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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28747806">Crossfire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/syntheticvision/pseuds/syntheticvision'>syntheticvision</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Brainwashing, Bullying, Death Threats, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Face Slapping, Fights, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Harassment, Hydra (Marvel), Knives, Language, Motorcycles, Past Brainwashing, Red Room (Marvel), Science, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence, deprogramming</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:26:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>30,231</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28747806</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/syntheticvision/pseuds/syntheticvision</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sticks and stones may break bones, but words can be deadly.</p><p>This Bucky Barnes will learn when he unknowingly pushes a potential agent into the arms of the newly revamped Hydra.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>241</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>330</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wish I had something of substance to say but I have not felt confident in my writing lately and writing this feels... oddly soothing. </p><p>Tags will be added as I go along, as per my usual fashion. When we come to some murkier territory, I will also add notes to expand on what is transpiring.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Get up.”</p><p>The testy presence above you does not stop to ask how you are feeling, the footsteps continuing past your head. The pain throbs between your ears as you struggle to lift your head from the mat that you’ve unceremoniously fallen on. Once you open your eyes, a hand waits for you to take hold as you reach up, getting to your feet by the added boost.</p><p>Pain still vibrates in your shoulders from the fall, your eyes still fighting back tears.</p><p>“Ignore him,” your sparring partner advises, cracking the top off of a water bottle before downing it in one swoop. “You know Barnes can be a hard ass. You okay? That fall looked rough.”</p><p>You brush off the pain, shifting your legs as you watch Bucky Barnes – the Winter Soldier himself – continue down the path of mats, giving directions and praise to the others that are continuing to train. Even if you don’t need the commendation, it would be nice to hear at least once, instead of the acid-laced remarks that you need to do better. You desperately want to do well, to prove that you're here and can make Barnes proud. Instead of the pleased expressions that light up his handsome face, you always seem to get the opposite.</p><p>The breath was knocked out of you harder than you realize once you try to take a deep breath.</p><p>“I’m fine,” you huff, getting into your position once more. “Let’s try again.”</p><p>“Alright,” they say with a shake of their head, knowing you won’t give up. “On my count.”</p><p>You manage to block the fists that seem to fly toward your face and body with expert precision, even dodging the sweep of the leg that was the cause of your fall in the first place. At the sound of your name being called, you turn, only to be met with a punch to the gut. It’s hard enough that you see the shock of the face from your partner as your core seizes in pain before you fall back to the mat.</p><p>A hand comes down once more, an anchor to lift you from the ground. A glint of metal blocks the assist. It’s quiet now, all eyes on Barnes, whose venomous stare is on you.</p><p>“No,” Barnes snaps to your partner. “You’ve gone too easy on her. Both of you can do better.”</p><p>“She’s fallen twice, Sir. I think she might need a nurse.” You can tell they’re worried. The first fall was enough to raise concern. The second one still has you on your back, your shoulders flat against the already thin mat as your hands cover your stomach. Tears leak from your eyes as you struggle to breathe.</p><p>Barnes leans over you, hands on his hips as he shakes his head.</p><p>“You need to focus. It doesn’t matter who is calling your name. You have a threat in front of you, that’s what you handle first. Know your priorities.”</p><p>His directions aren’t what makes you squeeze your eyes shut. It’s the tone. Given in the same matter of fact that you once believed he gave to everyone but the extra caustic bite seems to be reserved for you and you alone when you slip up.</p><p>“It’s my fault, Sir. Shouldn’t have hit that hard.” It’s an excuse that you know Barnes isn’t going to accept and you let out a pant as you try to get to your knees.</p><p>“Someone else would have hit harder. That’s it for today,” Barnes announces, loud enough that there is a collective sigh of relief in the room. “Wrap it up. Most of you did well.”</p><p>He doesn’t move from his spot as you hear the squeaking of shoes on the laminate, the shuffle of gym bags and nervous conversations as the gym is cleared out. Your sparring partner is close enough that you can make out their navy blue pants as they wait off to the side. If you didn’t know better, it was as if they were waiting to make sure you were alright.</p><p>“I expect better than what I’ve seen the past few days. Being an agent out on the field isn’t just being handed a gun and knowing how to use it. It’s hand to hand combat. Knowing and sizing up your enemy. You failed in that regard. Twice,” Barnes informs you, with a look that you wish was disappointment, but you know it’s of regret. “Natasha said you were good. I took you on in this advanced class because of her recommendation. I’m not inclined to agree with her.”</p><p>“Sergeant Barnes,” you hear your partner begin as Barnes holds up a hand for silence.</p><p>“I want you to succeed. But this showed me today that you aren’t ready to be a field agent. Too risky.”</p><p>His shadow leaves you as you pull yourself up, arms falling to the mat as you take in deep breaths as the gym door slams shut.</p><p>“Hey,” you hear your partner say behind you as you twist around to grab your bag, ready to put distance between you and the lingering failure that hangs in this gym. “It’s alright, he’s just trying to make you understand that we have to take this seriously. It’s our asses on the line out there.”</p><p>The embarrassment and frustration recoils into your gut, your eyes filling with tears once more at the thought of another failure.</p><p>“You heard him,” you remind him, sniffling as the heat burns into your cheeks. “I’m not ready to be a field agent.”</p><p>“Wait!” Shoes pound the ground behind you as you keep your head down, your gym bag slung over your shoulder. You know they want to catch up with you, try to talk about the feedback you’ve been given.</p><p>You were used to the same lines. You could handle it, this feedback that he would give you and others.</p><p>Only this time it was much worse. He’d told you how he felt without even a second thought.</p><p>-</p><p>You arrive early the next morning, hovering at the gym door as you take one last look at the hallways you’ve strolled through. This wasn’t how you expected your journey to end but the lack of sleep and the nagging in the back of your head only served to push you further with your decision.</p><p>The phone call leading up to your final choice had sealed your fate.</p><p>Barnes is carrying the heavy training mats on either of his shoulders, dropping them down with ease before he finally turns to see you. You know you're going to miss this place. The wide windows gave a perfect view of the mountains that you would take in while you were stretching. You'd miss Barnes, even if he didn't think highly of you. Perhaps that hurts most of all.</p><p>“A little early, aren’t you? he asks with a small smirk that seems to fade once he realizes you aren’t smiling. “What can I do for you?”</p><p>The badge that you’ve considered as one of your finest accomplishments now sits in your sweaty palm, fingers curled around the plastic ridges. It will take only seconds to say what you need to say and then you can leave. You thrust out your hand, opening up your palm to reveal your identification card.</p><p>“I’m resigning,” you inform him quickly, briefly looking into his eyes before you look back down at your badge. “Effective immediately.”</p><p>“Oh, uh,” Barnes fumbles, taking the card from your hand. If he sees the tears that are about to tip over in your glassy eyes, he doesn’t show it. “Just a second, let me…”</p><p>“HR said I just had to turn in the ID. Everything else will be deactivated once I leave the premises.” You recite it like you had been told. Your final paycheck will be mailed within two to three business days with your vacation hours cashed out as well. Enough to tide you over for another month before you have to find another job.</p><p>Barnes stares at you wordlessly, blinking slowly as he knits his eyebrows into confusion. You don’t know what you’re hoping for. Maybe a goodbye or even just a simple apology that you’re leaving, even if it isn’t heartfelt.</p><p>At the silence, you take one last look at the badge in his hand.</p><p>“You have a good day, Sergeant Barnes.”</p><p>You’re proud of yourself for making it past the door and down the hallway, into the open air as you clutch your keys and walk toward your car.</p><p>He made sure to see you when you were making mistakes. But if you didn’t know better any, you would have sworn that he couldn’t place a name to your face.</p><p>-</p><p>News of your resignation hits before Bucky has a chance to tell Natasha.</p><p>For now, Bucky has Steve to confide in, as he slides over the badge, watching his best friend study the smiling face that seems to hold so much potential.</p><p>“Did you know her?” Bucky asks, watching as Steve pours over her picture.</p><p>“Yeah, I know her. She was training to be a field agent. She’s part of your class, right? Natasha raved about her.”</p><p>“She quit,” Bucky tells him, a hint of guilt in his tone. “On the spot, actually.”</p><p>“Did something happen?”</p><p>“I don’t know. She just handed me her badge and left. Said she was resigning. Effective immediately.”</p><p>The look of concern on Steve’s face does not make Bucky feel any better. It has the opposite effect, knowing that Steve was aware of who she was while Bucky could not place which class she was in. He was double duty these days with Natasha being gone and classes began to blur after a while.</p><p>“She looked really upset. I wanted to talk to her, tell her to wait but I couldn’t remember her name,” Bucky trails off. “My fault. I feel like an idiot.”</p><p>“These things happen, Buck. People quit jobs all the time. It’s not your fault you can’t remember all the names of your students. You’ve got what, over two hundred at any given time? All different levels. Don’t beat yourself up, pal. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”</p><p>Bucky’s eyes met Steve’s in a solemn glance.</p><p>“You didn’t see her face. She was crushed.”</p><p>“If it makes you feel better, I can look through some of the files, see what she put down as the cause of her resignation,” Steve offers. “Might give you some closure.”</p><p>Bucky waves the gesture away with a flick of his wrist.</p><p>“It’s fine. I've never had anyone quit on me before. Just overthinking it.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bucky breaks the news to Natasha.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all for your comments thus far. I am so happy that you have been sharing your thoughts on this fic.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Natasha searches for you, arms crossed against her chest while her eyes sweep from the back of the gym to the front.</p><p>At the sight of Natasha, Bucky halts his training, heading straight for her. She’s back earlier than expected, the mission successful with no losses.</p><p>“Came to check on your newest pupil,” Natasha informs him, her eyes still searching at the bodies that are tumbling onto the mats.</p><p>He isn’t sure how to break the news, her blue eyes settling on his hesitant expression.</p><p>“What happened?” Her voice holds no room for excuses. He remembers Natasha’s praise of you, how eager she was to see you succeed. He isn’t sure how he can break the news that you are gone.</p><p>“She quit.” His voice is casual but the pause prior to his response gives a hint that there is a hint of remorse.</p><p>“She what?” Natasha’s voice raises, her eyes widening in shock. She motions toward the door with a quick nod of her head as they move toward the exit.</p><p>“Keep it up!” Bucky barks out as he holds the door for her to pass through.</p><p>Once they are outside, Natasha glares at him, her anger bubbling to the surface as she pinches the bridge of her nose.</p><p>“I recommended her to you because she beat my best trainers in hand-to-hand combat. What changed from when I introduced her to you until I left?”</p><p>Bucky doesn’t want to argue with Natasha, he knows that she’s upset. He remembers her glowing review of her trainees, knows the amount of pressure they are under during her tutelage before they can advance to the next training.</p><p>“Too many mistakes. Rookie ones that even I couldn’t ignore. You gave her to me and said she would be the best of the best. That’s not what I saw,” Bucky counters. He’s honest in his observation as Natasha crosses her arms over her chest.</p><p>“You pair her with Stevens, like I asked?”</p><p>It was less of an ask than it was a command.</p><p>“No. Stevens was going to be too rough on her,” Bucky defends with a hard shake of his head.</p><p>“I know that,” Natasha snaps, her eyes narrowing at him. “He was a Navy SEAL, Barnes. He knows what to look for and would give her positive reinforcement. Why didn’t you do what I asked?”</p><p>“Her first session, she landed flat on the mat in front of me. You want someone like that out in the field? Training mats don’t compare to the concrete we’ve both tasted. You know it as well as I do. I couldn’t give that a pass.”</p><p>“I asked you to watch out for her! You had one job and you overstepped your boundaries. You have no idea what she’s gone through, do you?” Natasha’s anger seems to dissolve into guilt. “I promised her she would be looked after. You treated her like a rank in file agent, even after I told you why it was important for her to do well. Her potential outweighs your fear.”</p><p>“What did you want me to do? Hand hold? She decided she couldn’t take it and she quit. It’s a rough situation, I get that, but I didn’t force her to do it.”</p><p>“And you didn’t try to stop her?”</p><p>The silence that falls between them makes Natasha suck in a sharp breath.</p><p>“Great. Do you know how hard we had to convince her father we weren’t the bad guys back then? He was being courted by Pierce. We had to show him that his work mattered, even when Stark didn’t think so.”</p><p>At the mention of Alexander Pierce, Bucky slumps his shoulders against the wall, realizing who your father was. He'd fought against Pierce for years.</p><p>“She’s his daughter. I didn’t know that.”</p><p>Your father was a legend in their field, the creator of the program that brought down Project Insight.</p><p>“You would have known that had you gotten to know her. She’s always been in her father’s shadow. This was a chance to show her we care. We didn’t.”</p><p>At her acidic remark, Bucky clenches his jaw, head lowering in defeat.</p><p>“I know you mean well. It’s coming from a good place. You’re just trying to send them out there prepared. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Natasha lowers her voice, sweeping her head from side to side to make sure no one else is around to hear their conversation. “But if she’s like her father, she’s a sitting duck for anyone who is interested in picking her brain for information about what we do.”</p><p>At her comment, Bucky’s eyes darken, his frown marring his features.</p><p>“So which is it? She’s good or you’ve kept her around so that her family name won’t be looked into and mined for information?”</p><p>“Don’t turn this around on me. I stand by what I said. She’s good. She’ll be great. But no thanks to you. I need to find her. Just do me a favor and stay out of my way.”</p><p>Natasha turns her back on him, storming off as Bucky watches her leave.</p><p>-</p><p>You want to be happy to see Natasha as you lower yourself into a chair, a slice of pizza waiting for you. Any sense of hunger you had was now gone at the sight of the sad smile on her face. The guilt of disappointing her makes you feel worse than before.</p><p>“Hey stranger,” Natasha greets you softly. “Thanks for meeting me on such short notice.”</p><p>“I don’t have a job anymore,” you joke quietly, though the execution sounds bitter and less self-deprecating. “You didn’t have to do this.”</p><p>“Of course I did. I wanted to make sure you were okay. I heard what happened.”</p><p>You aren’t ready to defend your decision. Instead, you focus on the slice of pizza on the plate, hoping you can will your hunger back so that you can take a bite – to give yourself more time to come up with a reason that she would accept why you quit.</p><p>“You don’t have to train with Bucky if you don’t want to. I’ll teach you everything you need to know. Stevens can help you, too,” Natasha urges, waiting for your answer.</p><p>At the sound of Bucky’s name, you figure she’s probably gotten all the details from him and embarrassment spreads through your body as you reach for the small bottle of parmesan cheese and dust it over your pizza.</p><p>“I-I appreciate that, Natasha. I really do. You helped me so much, made me believe that I could dream a little harder. I got farther than I thought. But I don’t think going back would help. I already know I don’t fit.” Affirming the words out loud hurt worse than you thought they would and the slight rattle of the bottle as you place it back down shows her that you are trying to keep control of the emotions that seem to be rising to the surface.</p><p>“That’s not true,” Natasha denies, her eyes pleading with you to reconsider. “You’re strong.”</p><p>“Not strong enough,” you reply softly, the tears gathering in your eyes as you try to wish them away. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll find something. I applied to a few places today. Hoping I hear back from someone soon.”</p><p>“Oh? Like where?”</p><p>You don’t try to hide the hopefulness in your voice as you answer.</p><p>“Just a few companies. There’s one out of state that seems promising. Fingers crossed that I get it. From what I’ve been reading there are a lot of candidates.”</p><p>“Out of state? What’s the job?” Natasha asks, her eyebrow raising in surprise. It’s a far cry from what you had told her you wanted to do and you know she will be disappointed with your answer.</p><p>“Secretary positions, mostly. Nothing major but a foot in the door.”</p><p>“Secretary? You wanted to be an agent. Not filing papers or getting someone coffee.”</p><p>“It’s a job,” you counter, feeling the sadness overtake you again. You want her to understand. To be happy that you’re trying to move onto something else than your pipe dream.</p><p>“You could do that with us.”</p><p>“I think I need a fresh start. Clean slate, you know?” you hint, biting down on your lower lip to keep it from trembling. “I’m going to be okay, Nat. I will. You’ll see.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bucky pays a visit against Natasha’s warning. A job offer emerges.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You manage to keep a low profile after your visit with Natasha, messages piling up in your notifications with your former colleagues who are worried about you. You know your resignation was sudden, not explained as you had kept your head down before you left the compound. You wanted to read the texts, your heart aching with the names that were showcased on your phone, all people you trained alongside and had gotten to know.</p><p>Soon enough, you knew, you would be a distant memory once they were off on their own. Just a person they would bring up during polite conversation. It was never personal but the sting of knowing that you would not be there on their graduation day hurt even more.</p><p>It was a week since you’d sent out your resume, your hopefulness dimming with every sign in into your email.</p><p>Just over two weeks ago, you’d been excited to learn something new. Natasha had been so enthusiastic about you moving onto the next step, giving you pointers as you had walked her to the Quinjet to say goodbye. At that reminder of the hopefulness and excitement you felt, you blink back tears, the knock at the door breaking your memory.</p><p>You don’t bother to check to see who is at the door when you open it. The last of the things that have been packed up for you are mailed in waves and you are certain to find another box at your doorstep. This time it isn’t a box waiting for you.</p><p>It’s Bucky.</p><p>As he says your name, a ripple of sadness goes through you as you realize this is the first time he’s ever addressed you by name. You wonder if it’s because of the badge or if Natasha reminded him of who you were.</p><p>He looks different from his usual gym attire – now dressed in a pair of black pants and a white Henley as you stare at his boots before you finally get the courage to focus your gaze back to him.</p><p>“May I help you, Sergeant Barnes?” You are no mood for visitors, your red-rimmed eyes a telltale sign you’re still grieving over the loss of your job.</p><p>“Is this a bad time?” Bucky counters. You know he can sense that his arrival has caught you off guard.</p><p>“I turned everything in, didn’t I? The HR lady said it was fine to do so,” you inform him, wondering why he’s at your apartment, let alone how he found where you lived. You know your address is on file but a house call is not something that is standard protocol, especially for a former employee. You wonder for a moment if Natasha told him to stop by.</p><p>“It isn’t about company property. You left abruptly when you quit. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”</p><p>You are far from okay, the lump that has formed once more squeezing in your throat. You don’t want to be reminded. You were there, you remember how you had resigned. He hadn’t cared then. He’d let you walk away with you a single word. If this was damage control, you were ready to assure him that it was not necessary.</p><p>“Fine, Sergeant Barnes,” you affirm stiffly. “I appreciate your concern.”</p><p>“You’ve been crying.” He says the words as if to counter the fact you’re trying to be strong.</p><p>You don’t deny it as you squeeze your eyes shut. The evidence is all over your face and you make no excuses. You hold onto the door like it’s there for support, unwilling to open it further. You have nothing left to give, not even politeness to have him come inside.</p><p>“Yes. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll be fine.” It’s more for your benefit to say it out loud than it is for him. Maybe if you keep this mantra, your confidence will build.</p><p>“Why did you quit?” Bucky asks abruptly, a bit of forcefulness in his tone.</p><p>“It was a stupid pipe dream. I failed.”</p><p>“Who said that?” Bucky pushes, your eyes widening at his question.</p><p>“You did,” you answer. “You said I was too risky. You said I failed. Multiple times. I know when I’m not wanted somewhere. You just were brave enough to say it to my face.”</p><p>You watch his face fall as you inch up your chin, trying to find what little shreds of confidence you have left to continue on with the already difficult conversation.</p><p>“You didn’t agree with Agent Romanoff’s recommendation. I understood that. So please, forgive me Sergeant Barnes if I’m wondering why you’re on my doorstep after you told me everything that makes me unqualified to be there.”</p><p>You watch his mouth move, the clench of his jaw as he shoves his hands into his pockets.</p><p>“That’s not,” Bucky begins, his head shaking rapidly. “You can come back. We can start over. Put you in a different class. Steve would be lucky to have you.”</p><p>At the mention of being placed into another class, you start to form your denial in the back of your throat. If you couldn’t prove yourself to him, you didn’t want to try with someone else. He’d probably still hold that opinion of you not being ready, even if you were placed in another class.</p><p>“Natasha already tried to offer that. I don’t want another class. I wanted a chance. I got one and it didn’t work out.”</p><p>Bucky’s voice seems to halt in his chest as you wipe away your tears.</p><p>“I’m sure we could work something out,” he tries to offer.</p><p>“I think pity is worse, don’t you? You were honest with me and I will always take that over coddling. I’m sorry Sergeant Barnes but I can’t talk about this anymore. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me.”</p><p>When you shut the door, you aren’t sure how long you’ve held your breath until your chest gives out and you inhale loudly, puffs of air hitting the door that fog up the glossy panel.</p><p>You remember how nervous you were to join his class, how eager you were to make a good impression once you’d mustered up the courage to introduce yourself. He hadn’t seemed interested in getting to know you, a simple shake of the hand and a nod as he fired off who your sparring partner would be. You’d been disappointed, seeing the man you’d admired for all his trials and tribulations reducing you to a simple badge and a name on a list.</p><p>If you weren’t able to capture his attention for even a few seconds before, how did you expect him to remember who you were once you were out in the field?</p><p>You were certain now that Natasha had sent him and you pry yourself away from the door, hearing the sound of his footsteps as you headed back to your desk, focused on checking your email once more for any hope of a reply to your job inquiries.</p><p>-</p><p>As you settle into a chair, you realize that this is your first interview in almost seven years. Nervous energy flows down your spine and to your legs that you shake idly back and forth before you catch yourself and cross your legs.</p><p>The small coffee shop is quiet, the acid jazz music that filters over the speakers low enough that you can hear the sound footsteps heading toward you before your name is upon the man’s lips that is pulling out a chair to sit across from you.</p><p>The call had come before the email confirmation of an interest in an interview. The man on the other end of the line had introduced himself as Daniel Whitehall. It was a name you’d heard before but you couldn’t remember where. Any research on Lerna Industries only came up with their website and Glassdoor reviews of the private defense company. Daniel Whitehall was their Director of Recruitment as he’d informed you on the call.</p><p>You’d thought it was a big deal until he admitted that he was in town and would be willing to interview you before he left to fly back to the Pacific Northwest.</p><p>“Daniel Whitehall,” he greets, a flash of white teeth and a smooth, kind smile that puts you at ease. “Pleasure to meet you.”</p><p>As you shake his hand firmly, he looks down at your interlocked hands.</p><p>“Strong grip you got there. That’s always a good sign of confidence.”</p><p>He busies himself with unzipping his portfolio, taking out a pen as he smooths over a new sheet of paper in his notebook. Your eyes flicker down to a photo of Whitehall and what you presume is his family, a wife and a son behind a vast mountain range on his phone. It gives you a sense of relief that he’s a family man, not unlike your father.</p><p>“Thank you for meeting me on such short notice. I know time is precious these days so I appreciate it,” he begins, clicking his pen as he poises it over the notepad. “I have to tell you that I was very impressed with your resume. It makes me wonder why you’re applying for the job of a secretary instead of one of our field engineers.”</p><p>“I like organization,” you answer, trying to temper your voice to rid yourself of your nervousness. “The position in question is in research and development. From what I’ve found, Lerna is leading the way in developing safeguards in weapons training.”</p><p>“Ah, I love it when a candidate does their research,” Whitehall praises, giving you a wink. “We are committed to safety. In our country and abroad. It makes me very pleased that you’d taken the time to read up on our work. It means you’re invested.”</p><p>At the compliment, you feel yourself begin to smile. You had done your research and you were proud of yourself that he had noticed.</p><p>“You indicated in your application that you resigned from your last position. Why was that?”</p><p>You pause at the question, the uneasy feeling spreading back into your gut. You know you should be honest and you hope that you aren’t blowing your chances with your response.</p><p>“Not a good fit,” you answer quietly.</p><p>“I’m sorry to hear that. It happens sometimes. But from what I hear you were well on your way to becoming something great.”</p><p>When you look up at his face, he closes his portfolio.</p><p>“We do our research too,” he informs you gently. “Private defense. We can’t trust just anyone. Your resume is very impressive. Best one I’ve seen in a long time. But I must admit that you are overqualified for this position.”</p><p>Your fingers clench into fists at his remark. You don’t want to cry anymore and you manage a short nod, your lips pursed together as your teeth hold them closed.</p><p>“I’d much rather prefer it if you had applied for something worth your talents,” Whitehall begins, placing his pen down. “But either way, we would be lucky to have you on the team, if you would accept my offer.”</p><p>Your eyes widen as he extends his hand. The amount of relief that flows through you almost makes you want to weep in gratitude but you hold it together, thankful for the opportunity to show that you can be of service.</p><p>“Yes,” you agree quickly, shaking his hand with as much strength as you can. “I’d love to. Yes. Thank you so much, Mr. Whitehall. You have no idea what this means to me.”</p><p>“Very good. Welcome to Lerna Industries. We’ll talk about relocation and compensation in the next few days. We’re looking to move rather quickly. I hope you understand. But we are in need of someone like you.”</p><p>“Absolutely,” you confirm, your smile spreading as you let go of his hand. A weight feels like it has been lifted off of your shoulders as Whitehall collects his things and pushes back his chair.</p><p>“You’ll love it here. Trust me. We’ll be in touch.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Natasha gets bad news. Bucky comes to a realization while watching a sparring session.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Natasha knocks for a fifth time before an elderly man with a raised eyebrow in her direction steps outside of his door to stare.</p><p>“Can I help you, Miss?” he asks, clutching his set of keys in his hand. It’s been days since she spoke to you last, your words still echoing in her head.</p><p>“Just seeing if a friend is home,” Natasha answers, lowering her hand down to her side. “Haven’t been able to get a hold of her.”</p><p>“Oh, I thought she would have told you. Put in her notice a few days ago. Moving truck came and packed up everything. Paid off the rest of her lease, too, even though I told her she didn’t have to.”</p><p>Natasha pulls out her phone to try to contact you again, only to get the same standard message that your phone has been disconnected. The uneasy feeling that makes its way back into her gut only gets worse as your former landlord gives her a sympathetic look.</p><p>“It’s a shame, you know. Known her family for years, she’s been a tenant here since she graduated college. She was really excited to be one of those agents like her old man. You’re one of them too, aren’t you?”</p><p>“She still could be,” Natasha replies, her gaze back on the door. “Do you know where she went?”</p><p>“No idea. She wasn’t here. Some man came up to drop off the key, paid off the lease. Left the place nice and clean, though I figured she would. Always been a good girl, that one. Whatever she found, it was probably something good.”</p><p>“Could I… could I just see her place?”</p><p>If the landlord finds her request odd, he doesn’t show it as he shuffles to the door, the key crunching into the lock as he opens it.</p><p>Natasha peers into the empty apartment. The walls have been scrubbed, the carpet freshly vacuumed. It’s as if you never set foot inside this place. She swallows hard, nodding for a moment before she turns her back.</p><p>“If you hear from her,” Natasha begins, writing her phone number down and handing it to him as she takes one last look at the space. “Can you let me know?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>-</p><p>
  <em>“You aren’t ready to be a field agent.”</em>
</p><p>Bucky’s words roar inside his head with the same intensity of the tone he had admonished you in, his body snapping up inside his bed as he exhales a loud breath.</p><p>Your expression still haunts him from the day you quit, the blank stare you gave when he gazed at your outstretched palm and back to your face. He remembers your taped fingers, a usual welcome gift from Peterson, who is always unusually rough with new trainees. He calls it a rite of passage. Bucky would beg to differ. He called it harassment.</p><p>When had you trained with him? Peterson was considered a bully, walking the tightrope of suspension. Had he known about your injury, Peterson would have been expelled immediately.</p><p>He turns on the bedside light, opening a drawer to retrieve your badge. He’s been studying it when you invade his thoughts, bits and pieces of who you were slowly coming into focus.</p><p>Bucky can still feel Natasha’s glare on his back from the flight back to the compound, her suspicions growing when she announces she can’t get a hold of you. Bucky knows that she blames him for your disappearance and as the pangs of guilt continue to rise, he starts to believe she’s right.</p><p>He glances at your picture once more, the happiness in your eyes and the apples of your cheeks from your wide smile. He wondered how long it took for you to come to your decision, to come and see him in person. Normally a resignation could be done over the phone. Human Resources would have easily taken care of it.</p><p>It was as if you had wanted him to see you.</p><p>-</p><p>“Everything up to your standard?”</p><p>The voice behind you makes you jump as you let go of the drapes from the big bay window overlooking the sound.</p><p>“It’s beautiful,” you confirm, finally peeling your gaze away from the scenery in front of you to look back at Whitehall. The basket he holds in his hands makes your eyes go wide.</p><p>“Is that for me?” You’ve never seen anything so extravagant. A bouquet of white roses are tucked under his arm as you rush forward to help him.</p><p>“Stay put,” Whitehall tells you with a smile. “A little welcome gift from me and our CEO.”</p><p>“The CEO?” You can’t downplay the awe in your voice as he places the basket on the counter. You’ve never had anyone make such a big deal about you.</p><p>“You’ll meet him soon. Very European. A little eccentric but he’s very happy to have you on our team. A token of appreciation and his gratitude.”</p><p>“Gratitude? But I haven’t done anything yet,” you counter, looking at all the items that are stuffed inside the basket. You spy a small box of your favorite chocolates, peeking out from behind a gift card.</p><p>“For things to come, of course. As I said, your resume was very impressive.” Whitehall reminds you. “Let’s give you a tour of your new place.”</p><p>You fall in step behind him as he rolls off the names of designers that have decorated this spacious apartment. He flicks on the light to the en suite, your lips forming into an O of surprise. It’s massive, complete with a glass shower and a whirlpool tub.</p><p>“Heated tiles,” Whitehall informs you, motioning to a switch. “Everything is state of the art.”</p><p>“This seems like so much,” you counter, still in awe of the fact that this apartment is at least three times bigger than the one you left.</p><p>“You’re a long way from home. Let this be your sense of peace. I’m sure you’ll be working so hard you won’t remember half of what I’m telling you. From what I hear you are a hard worker. Remember to relax. I have a feeling once you know your way around, you will be unstoppable. You’ll need your rest.”</p><p>“I hope so.”</p><p>Whitehall turns to you, placing a warm and heavy hand on your shoulder.</p><p>“I say this to my daughter all the time but sometimes when we get too focused on a goal we forget how to let ourselves be happy."</p><p>You find yourself nodding along with his statement, letting his words wash over you as you take them to heart. It seems like months, not weeks, have passed since you resigned. The memories are still there, the pain of what you left behind but you know you can’t hold onto it forever. He’s right. You haven’t been happy in so long that it feels like a foreign feeling to allow yourself to have.</p><p>The rest of the tour of your new apartment is quick - Whitehall continuing with every detail and make of certain appliances that you aren’t sure you’ll ever use. It still feels like a dream, following behind him as he ends at your living room, the big bay window showcasing the gorgeous view in front of you.</p><p>“Remember, this is all yours. You’ll come to find that we are much more than just a business. We’re a family.”</p><p>“A family,” you repeat softly, with a small smile. “Got it.”</p><p>Whitehall smiles at you in return, looking at his watch briefly before he gives you a hopeful glance.</p><p>“How would you like to see the Research and Development lab? I was going to wait until tomorrow but we have some extra time. You could meet some of the scientists that you’ll be assisting.”</p><p>“Really? I’d love to,” you answer quickly. You’d read about their accomplishments but it was quite another thing to see them up close and personal.</p><p>“Wonderful. We’ll take my car,” Whitehall announces, holding the door open for you. “After you.”</p><p>-</p><p>In the darkness of the media room, Bucky leans back in his chair, pressing play on the remote that is in his hand.</p><p>Natasha stands in the center of the gym, her stance confident and strong as Bucky spies you coming into view. Your stride is steady but your eyes are on the floor, Bucky’s lips forming into a frown as he remembers the exact same way you would enter the gym. Unconfident and shy, just the way he thought.</p><p>“Like we practiced,” Natasha says, your head lifting to meet her gaze. “On my count.”</p><p>The remote clatters to the table as he watches you. It isn’t often that he’s rendered speechless. Every movement is fluid, quick and steady. These are moves that Natasha has learned from him, back in the Red Room so many years ago when he was the Soldat. She’s never taught anyone what she’s learned.</p><p>Until now. You mimic her moves with expert precision, the blows of both you and Natasha blocking each other until you slide under her outstretched legs to take her down with a sweep of your legs.</p><p>“Shit,” Natasha says with a hard laugh as she lands flat on her back. “I didn’t teach you that.”</p><p>“See an opportunity,” you say shyly, reaching out your hand to help her up.</p><p>“Strike,” Natasha answers you, giving you a quick pat on the back.</p><p>“She’s good,” Steve says behind Bucky, who snaps up the remote and presses pause as Steve stands behind him, still staring at the frozen image of Natasha’s gesture.</p><p>“I know. Doesn’t match what I saw in my class,” Bucky mentions, his voice tinged with curiosity. “She must have been holding back.”</p><p>“You said she wasn’t cutting it. Why would she not show you how good she was? Seems like the perfect opportunity to show off what she knew,” Steve counters, plucking the remote from Bucky’s hand as he fast forwards to another session.</p><p>Erik Stevens, one of the hardest trainers in Natasha’s group, spars with you as you charge forward.</p><p>“Good, keep up that energy,” Stevens praises, his body twisting to counter your attacks. “I’m coming for you.”</p><p>His hits are quick and efficient, hard and rough as one solidly hits across your sternum and you stumble backward.</p><p>“Don’t falter, keep focused,” Stevens barks out, your head shaking quickly as you squeeze your eyes shut in pain. “Pain is temporary. Your fight is forever. Shake it out, focus and center on me. You got this.”</p><p>Steve and Bucky watch as you pepper his arms and stomach with your blows, some blocked and others barely missed until you land two good shots on his body.</p><p>“Nice work,” Stevens pants, wincing slightly as he rubs off the pain from his arm. “Don’t let the pain get to you. Good job.”</p><p>Bucky sees the hint of a smile as you pant, giving him a solid nod as you get back into position. A far cry from what he saw in his class.</p><p>“You didn’t tell me she went up against Stevens,” Steve accuses with a shake of his head. “Maybe she got stage fright.”</p><p>“Maybe,” Bucky clips, turning off the TV as he stands up abruptly. “Whatever. What’s done is done.”</p><p>“Everything okay?”</p><p>“I went to see her. Try to figure out why she quit.”</p><p>Steve is silent at the revelation. He knows that Natasha told him not to meddle. But Bucky is stubborn - just like he is - and he isn’t surprised that Bucky paid you a visit.</p><p>“She wouldn’t talk to me. She shut down.”</p><p>“I think you’re beating yourself up over nothing. You said she didn’t do well. Maybe it was too advanced. Probably just was in over her head. Either way, you didn’t do anything wrong. She chose to quit, Buck. That isn’t your fault,” Steve tries to soothe, watching Bucky’s dark expression.</p><p>“I should have taken the time to get to know her. Maybe give her some pointers, I don’t fucking know. I came here to prove that what I saw in my class was how she was. That tape proves that I didn’t know her ability. I should have.”</p><p>“You couldn’t have known,” Steve offers, watching his best friend head toward the door. “It isn’t your fault.”</p><p>“Maybe not but it still feels like it.”</p><p>-</p><p>The moment you step foot inside the lab, you’re surrounded by scientists in their white coats and curious smiles as Whitehall introduces you. Your shoulder bounces with hearty handshakes, murmurs of polite compliments. You notice more than once that a few of them hold your hand longer than is customary. When you try to pull away, you're given praise at your strong grip.</p><p>“It is a pleasure to meet you. We’ve heard so much about you,” a scientist chimes in, letting go of your hand as they observe you up and down. It isn’t a look of lust but one of curiosity before you turn your head to Whitehall, who gives you a wide smile.</p><p>“Forgive them, it’s been a few weeks of constant work. They’re just happy to see another human being in regular clothes,” Whitehall apologizes. “Doctor List, would you be able to show her around?”</p><p>At his comment, you whirl around to face him, your face filled with confusion as an older man steps forward with a smile.</p><p>“You aren’t staying?” you ask, unsure if you should be here.</p><p>“I have a meeting to attend but I assure you, Dr. List is one of the best. He’ll show you around the lab, get you acquainted with your new office. You’ll be reporting to him.”</p><p>Whitehall gives your shoulder a slight squeeze.</p><p>“You’re in good hands. I can think of no one better to take care of you during my absence. A car will be waiting to take you back home once your tour is complete.”</p><p>“Sure. Sounds good,” you answer, trying to keep the confidence in your voice as Whitehall gives you a smile before he turns to leave.</p><p>“Take good care of her, Doctor List.”</p><p>“Of course, Mr. Whitehall,” Dr. List assures, giving you a friendly grin. “I think you’re going to like it here. We’ve been waiting for you.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bucky interrogates a trainee and is shocked at what he finds.  Curiosity leads to a revelation in the basement of the lab.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I said I'd add some notes when we got to some murkier territory.</p><p>This is where it starts. There are mentions of bullying and harassment in this chapter, including some implied sexual harassment. There is also some violence (broken bones) and heavy language. I've updated the tags as well. I really have been enjoying the response to this fic and I cannot take you all enough for taking the time to comment with your thoughts.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky hears your name in conversation as he walks through the line of trainees as they spar. He continues on, nodding with as much praise as the recruits will get for the day, aware of the gossip that is muttered after he corrects a lazy stance after one trainee goes flying first into the mat.</p><p>The day ends when he’s seen enough, making mental notes to go over form and focus with a few that stand out in his mind. He’s committed to a better approach, knowing them by name and how they like their feedback. Too little too late for her, he admits to himself as he makes his way through the last of the trainees.</p><p>But the feedback he is going to provide as people begin leave is reserved for one person only.</p><p>“Peterson,” Bucky calls out, the shoes of the trainees squeaking as they advance faster toward the exit. “Stay behind.”</p><p>“Sergeant?” Peterson asks, tossing his towel inside his bag as he gives him a curious glance.</p><p>Bucky waits until the doors slam shut before he strides over to him, noting that Peterson has gone quiet at his stare.</p><p>“Care to repeat what was said earlier?”</p><p>Peterson swallows hard, aware of Bucky’s clenched metal fist and icy glare.</p><p>“Which part, Sir?”</p><p>“All of it,” Bucky orders. “Every single sentence.”</p><p>Peterson juts out his lower lip as he sighs, not looking at Bucky as he recites his words from earlier.</p><p>“I said that it was nice that she took the hint that nepotism isn’t going to cut it. She was never going to make it, even if her dear old daddy brought down Project Insight.”</p><p>“What else did you say,” Bucky urged, his teeth clenched.</p><p>Peterson hesitates briefly, aware that Bucky already knows what is going to be said. It feels awkward to repeat out loud.</p><p>“Her pussy wasn’t enough for you to give her special treatment.”</p><p>Within seconds Peterson is slammed and pinned on the ground, Bucky’s hand around his throat as he squeezes.</p><p>“Is that what you think happened, Peterson? You think I fucked her?”</p><p>Peterson chokes and coughs, his face reddening under the pressure that Bucky refuses to let up.</p><p>“I saw the way she looked at you,” Peterson rasps, his fingers scratching against Bucky’s metal arm.</p><p>“Jealous? Is that why you broke her fingers?”</p><p>Peterson follows Bucky’s gaze down to his own hands as he sputters.</p><p>“Sergeant,” Peterson wheezes. “It was a dumb joke.”</p><p>“Tell me why I shouldn’t break your fingers as payback. What happened to her? Speak up or I’ll return the favor.”</p><p>He lifts his hand off Peterson’s neck as he sucks in air, coughing as he nods quickly.</p><p>“We all know she was Agent Romanoff’s favorite. Breezed through the class like nothing. We all know who her father is, it made sense she would be picked first.”</p><p>“You think Agent Romanoff plays favorites then you don’t know her at all. You didn’t answer my question. How did she get the broken fingers?”</p><p>“You paired her with me on her first day, Sergeant. I wasn’t going to go easy on her. She thought you’d be impressed the way Natasha was. I set her straight. Told her she’d never get past you. She didn’t have the talent. She proved me right,” Peterson says in a strangled huff. “She couldn’t keep up the ruse like you could. We all saw the way she looked at you.”</p><p>Bucky’s already deadly gaze narrowed on him as he paces around him.</p><p>“Looked at me like what?”</p><p>Peterson shakes his head with a dark chuckle.</p><p>“Like she loved you.”</p><p>Bucky pauses at Peterson’s words. He tries to remember how you looked at him, if you were distracted by him as he walked past.</p><p>“You like creating fairy tales?” Bucky shoots back, resuming his circle around him.</p><p>“I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Did she make those little breathy whines for you? She did for me when she was begging me to let her go when I pinned her to the mat.”</p><p>“I told myself that I wasn’t going to enjoy expelling you,” Bucky says quietly, with a slight shake of his head. “But I’m going to, you sorry piece of shit.”</p><p>A metal fist grips Peterson’s hand as bones crack, Bucky’s concentration centered on Peterson’s pained expression as the other man slaps Bucky's forearm with his free hand.</p><p>“You have no idea what I could do to you,” Bucky threatens, his teeth bared with every word.</p><p>“Bucky!” Steve calls out, stopping abruptly once he enters as he observes the scene in front of him.</p><p>“Captain Rogers,” Peterson called out, Bucky still gripping his hand. “Sergeant Barnes… he’s lost it.”</p><p>“Buck, let him go,” Steve commands, walking slowly toward the pair as Bucky’s eyes lift up to Steve.</p><p>“Yeah, I guess I have lost it. This bastard just told me he broke her fingers. Isn’t that right, Peterson? What did you call it? Set her straight?” Bucky growls.</p><p>Steve’s expression darkens at the mention of you.</p><p>“Is that true?” Rogers asks, his gaze now solely on Peterson.</p><p>“This is crazy. She was a nobody. I say one little thing and he freaks out on me,” Peterson accuses in a shaky breath, a tear rolling down his cheek as Steve stares at his mangled hand that Bucky lets go as it falls to his side.</p><p>“Doesn’t seem like a freak out to me,” Steve denies.</p><p>Bucky lets him go as he stands.</p><p>“Get out,” Bucky commands, his voice cold as Peterson scrambles to get to his feet. “You’re expelled. I don’t want you within ten miles of this compound. Do I make myself clear?”</p><p>“You broke my fucking hand,” Peterson heaves, stepping backwards as Bucky advances.</p><p>“I can break your neck if you like,” Bucky offers with a sneer. “Get the fuck out of here.”</p><p>Peterson fumbles through the doors as Steve hears Bucky’s hard breaths, his fists clenching and unclenching into tight fists.</p><p>“He’s gone, Buck.”</p><p>“It really was my fucking fault, wasn’t it?” The question Bucky asks is quiet, hanging in the air as Steve attempts to reason with him.</p><p>“You didn’t -”</p><p>“Don’t, Steve. Don’t say I didn’t do anything wrong because clearly, I don’t remember pairing her with him. I remember MacKenzie asking if he could trade partners and take her instead. Now I know why. I couldn’t even see it.”</p><p>“How could you have known?”</p><p>“Because it’s my job to keep them safe. I had a goddamn bully right under my nose and I looked the other way because I thought he was like Hodge. She didn’t need to speak up. I needed to do right by her. I didn’t,” Bucky snaps, his head shaking with disgust. “I need a few minutes.”</p><p>Steve watches Bucky charge through the doors, leaving him alone in the gym.</p><p>-</p><p>Holding your phone in your hand, you scroll through the contacts, aware that the one person you could talk to was missing from the list. Everything had been switched over so quickly that you didn’t have a chance to give Natasha your new number, let alone save hers that you never knew by memory. Technology was a blessing and curse.</p><p>Work had been an easy adjustment, almost too easy by your standards. You weren’t sure if you were settling in because it was a job that did not require as much strenuous effort or if you were missing something. Dr. List seemed pleased with your efforts, praising you for the smallest tasks that you had deemed important enough to complete, such as sending thank you letters to the board of directors after a luncheon.</p><p>Curiosity takes hold at the thought of visiting the lab, per Dr. List’s encouragement. You’d barely gotten a chance to explore since he’d taken you on a tour and now was as good a time as ever to investigate.</p><p>No one else joins you in the elevator as you press the button to go down to the basement, nervous energy flowing through you at the idea of seeing something secretive, not available to the masses.</p><p>You press your index finger on the pad before the light turns green and the elevator doors open. You’ve never gone down this far before, not to the basement level.</p><p>The dimly lit lab makes you tense, the silence almost too loud as the click of your heels echo down the hallway. You scan the walls for any additional light switches as you pass maquettes in various poses, computers humming in a small cubicle that you stop to peer into. The last day of the month is circled in red, your eyes searching the desks for any idea of who these spaces belong to.</p><p>There’s nothing that stands out, only a pen that is labeled Phoenix Consulting. The computers are old, much more out of date than you would have expected as you back out of the space. You would expect someone to come down, to resume these projects that are seemingly out in the open as you continue down the lab, still searching for a source of light until your ears pick up a loud buzzing sound to your left.</p><p>In the distance, you can only make out shadows of what looks like a figure, stopping short at the noise as it gets louder. Whatever it is, the crackling of the wires makes you pause, your hand sliding against the wall in hopes of a light switch.</p><p>When your fingers rise over a plate and connect with a switch, you flick it on, the lights above buzzing to life as the figure in the darkness is now luminated with light.</p><p>At the sight, you gasp, covering your mouth as your heart slams into your chest.</p><p>Thick cables snake down from the unfinished ceiling, plugged into the skeletal remains of a robotic figure.</p><p>A figure that you knew all too well.</p><p>It was supposed to be demolished in Sokovia. Not here inside a lab.</p><p>“I hear you were bored,” a voice behind you announces, making you jump as you whirl around to face Dr. List. “Just as I predicted you would be.”</p><p>Your hand slaps against your chest as you try to calm yourself. Dr. List gives you a small tilt of his head before he looks up at the figure hanging on the wall.</p><p>“Ah, I see you’ve met Ultron. Or, what was left of him,” Dr. List observes. “He was on loan to us from Stark. We offered to give him back but he declined. For obvious reasons.”</p><p>“Why-why do you have it?” you ask, your eyes still focused on what is left of the robotic madman.</p><p>“We, my dear. We are a family company, remember? There is no you or I, only we,” Dr. List corrects you gently. “A while back, General Ross wanted to commission sentries that could be deployed in times of war. We offered to take on the project but it was not successful. The world does much better with biological weapons. Robotics can only go so far. The human mind, the body can be used in ways that metal cannot.”</p><p>“It was buzzing,” you accuse, still unnerved by the sight of Ultron.</p><p>“Mr. Whitehall believes that with enough breakthroughs with science, we can one day harness Ultron’s ability to problem solve. Though not in the ways Stark believed. His brain is a supercomputer, one we cannot turn on. Nor do I believe we will ever. But he is a constant reminder to me that computers can turn on you. Humans are much more loyal.”</p><p>At his words, you swallow back the weird feeling that has taken hold in your belly, aware that his comment is unnerving. Dr. List claps his hands together as he turns to you.</p><p>“Enough of the bolts and screws. You have done so wonderfully with your work that I have been hoping to ask you to take on a little more responsibility.”</p><p>“Really? I haven’t really done anything,” you murmur as he guides you away from Ultron and back down the hall.</p><p>“You’re far more advanced, much too talented for the work I’ve been setting forth for you. We have a defense division that we’ve been keeping under wraps. Specialized logistic transporters that we train when we need to move our machinery to other states. I’d like you to see the training grounds. I’ve read your file,” Dr. List says in a near purr. “You never mentioned you were training to be an agent.”</p><p>At the topic, you shake your head, shrugging at the praise. You didn’t want to bring up the past.</p><p>“As I told Mr. Whitehall, it didn’t pan out. I don’t know if that would be best for me,” you admit.</p><p>“You’re just going to look, right? There’s no harm in seeing the other aspects of our company,” he reminds you with a kind smile. “You’ll like it. I assure you.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bucky tells Natasha of what transpired in the gym. An observation at the training grounds leads to a call to Natasha to share the good news.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky calls out to Natasha twice before she tears her eyes away from the monitor, her glare of irritation apparent. Whatever she is working on disappears as she locks her computer quickly.</p><p>“What do you want, Barnes?”</p><p>Her tone holds no politeness. It’s been like this for weeks. She’s asked Steve to not be paired with him on subsequent missions and Bucky knows he isn’t exactly welcome in her space.</p><p>“I need to talk to you.”</p><p>“So talk.”</p><p>There is no easy way to break the news – to tell her that her best student was bullied and harassed. The guilt he holds is like a weight that seemed to get heavier by the footstep until he had reached the door. It sticks in his gut now, unwilling to move as he leans in the doorway.</p><p>“I’m sure you heard about Peterson,” Bucky begins, Natasha’s blue eyes darkening with anger.</p><p>“I did. You finally grew a pair and let him go.”</p><p>“Some revelations came to light,” he admits, his chest expanding with the truth that he’s going to drop on her. “I heard him cracking a few jokes. I thought he was getting better. Peterson thought that she was the favorite.”</p><p>He doesn’t want to tell her the exact play by play of Peterson’s words as he licks his lower lip briefly.</p><p>“He roughed her up. Broke a few fingers. Happened on her first day and she was reassigned to MacKenzie the next morning.” His words are like a blow. He can see her lips tighten as she inhales at his admission. “I didn’t know, Nat. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Her back of her hand connects to his cheek so loudly that he hears it before he feels it, a shockwave of pain radiating down his jaw as Natasha’s breath of anger is loud and choppy.</p><p>“You son of a bitch!” Her voice is almost a roar. “I trusted you with her. I told you to bring Stevens along and you refused. You paired her with Peterson? A goddamn bully with multiple complaints against him who was already walking a thin line. How did you not know that her fingers were broken? She was your student, Barnes. How do you miss that?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Bucky admits in a low tone. “I should have.”</p><p>“You’re goddamned right you should have. Peterson was always an asshole and you and I both know he never would have made it based on his attitude alone. You paired her with someone over twice her size who already wasn’t going to give her a fair shot.”</p><p>At her caustic reply, Bucky took a step closer toward her, unwilling to back down from a fight that had already exposed a nerve.</p><p>“A fair shot? You wanted me to pair her with Stevens. To bring him from your class to mine and expect no one to notice that she was getting special treatment? That would have made it better?”</p><p>“He was subbing for me. He’s more advanced than half of the field agents we already have out there. It wouldn’t have been special treatment and she sure as shit wouldn’t have had her fingers broken by some asshole with a chip on his shoulder. I taught her everything I know.”</p><p>“I know,” Bucky snaps, the grey in his blue eyes vibrant with frustration. “I saw the tapes. Moves from the Red Room. We don’t teach those, Natasha. Not anymore. You know the rules.”</p><p>“I train the way I see fit. Maybe if you’d listened to me, she would still be here. She’s gone, by the way. Vanished into thin air,” Natasha fires back, Bucky’s expression one of shock. “Went by her apartment and it’s like she never existed. Landlord said some guy came by, paid off the rest of her lease. She didn’t even say goodbye.”</p><p>He can see the tears pooling in her eyes as she scoffs, angrily wiping her face.</p><p>“You think I was trying to protect her because of who her father was? That she would have gotten special treatment? He didn’t want her to be a field agent. In fact, he blocked her application,” she continues.</p><p>Natasha knows it was more than once. Twice, if she remembered it correctly. Her father had considered her a liability, the daughter of such an important man a target for information if she was to get into the wrong hands, even with as loyal as she was to him.</p><p>His denial was a last-ditch effort to encourage her to do something else with her life – perhaps a lawyer, maybe an accountant. Anything except having her in do the job that he knew would put her in harm’s way.</p><p>“Everything she did, she did on her own. All it took was for her to run into you and have it all fall apart and now she’s gone. I can’t search for her anywhere. It’s like she doesn’t exist. If you’re looking to be consoled or told you’re doing the right thing by telling me the truth, you won’t find it here. I expected better,” Natasha fumes, her face flushed with fury.</p><p>Her shoulder knocks against his arm as she storms past him, her hand at her thigh holster as her fingers curl against her gun.</p><p>“Don’t follow me,” she calls out behind her. “Not unless you want a bullet lodged in that metal arm.”</p><p>At the mention of her threat, Bucky listens until she is far away from earshot before he hovers over her keyboard, pressing a key to make her monitor come alive. The standard wallpaper hides her work but he knows deep down that she was searching for you.</p><p>-</p><p>Dr. List leads you down to a set of double doors before he pauses, giving you a hopeful smile that you’ve come to realize is one that he seems to reserve only for you.</p><p>The drive over to the grounds had been one of secrecy, the car that had been waiting for you once you had left the lab driving for miles until it exited off a freeway and onto a highway that seemed to go underground.</p><p>“Here you will find our greatest logistical engineers. They train, for days on end, in the event that our transports are compromised. One can never be too careful. We had an incident once, years ago, that taught us to be careful. Our driver was held hostage and unfortunately killed by a rival company. Had he been taught the defense classes that we teach now, he would have stood a chance.”</p><p>“Defense classes?” You can’t deny that your interest is piqued.</p><p>“Mr. Whitehall insists upon it and I tend to agree, the training grounds are a far better way to keep our assets safe. The real reason I wanted you to see our facility is that I believe you may be able to give us some insight into our methods.”</p><p>“I wasn’t an agent,” you remind him flatly. “Never finished.”</p><p>“I am aware. But you got far, from what I researched. I want you to think of yourself more of like a consultant. Tell us what we’re missing.”</p><p>His hand settles on the door, waiting for your answer. You know you’re capable to looking at form, remembering the pointers that your former teachers have given you that you had tried to apply. You stare at your fingers, the memory of the tape still fresh in your mind as you bend and curl them into fists.</p><p>“I can try.”</p><p>There’s a wide smile that seems to plaster Dr. List’s face as the door pushes open.</p><p>“After you.”</p><p>Once you step inside, the training grounds are massive, half the size of a football field. Exercise equipment line the mirrored walls as men and women in black workout pants and red shirts are sprinkled around the grounds, focused on various training exercises.</p><p>Dr. List points to the second floor as your eyes lift.</p><p>“Gun range,” he advises. “I’m not sure if you’ll ever need it but it’s there. If you’re interested, we can set you up with an instructor.”</p><p>You stay silent at his offer. Despite his research, there are things he doesn’t seem to know. You know your way around a gun. Natasha had taught you well.</p><p>At the familiar grunts and bodies landing on mats, you turn your head, watching two people spar off to the side. It’s familiar, almost heartbreakingly so as you force the memories of your own failed attempts aside to focus on what is in front of you.</p><p>“What do you see?” Dr. List asks, your eyes on the male partner.</p><p>“His stance is not relaxed,” you note, pointing at his rigid form. “Too tense. She’s going to hit him in the chest and he’ll fall. His legs will lock up if they haven’t already.”</p><p>Dr. List gives you an approving hum.</p><p>“What else?”</p><p>“Her power is dominantly in her right hook. He has to move away from her power, not into it. He could… get something broken,” you finish quickly. “Otherwise, they’re fine.”</p><p>“Very good,” Dr. List praises, lifting his chin at the sight of the instructor. “I’ll be sure to pass along your feedback.”</p><p>“You don’t have to,” you speak up with a shake of your head. “Just a few things I learned when I was first starting.”</p><p>“Ah, yes. For you, I would understand. But them… they aren’t new. Supposedly advanced from what my instructor praises,” Dr. List points out, motioning to the instructor who continues forward. “Thank you for your thorough observations.”</p><p>“Speaking from experience,” you reply honestly. “It helped me. Or at least, it was supposed to.”</p><p>You let out a small mirthless laugh before you sigh. You have to remember to focus on the good, the positive that has come into your life.</p><p>“Already getting her acquainted with the training grounds, I see,” Mr. Whitehall says behind you as both you and Dr. List turn to face him.</p><p>“Yes, we were just touring the grounds. She has an excellent eye for feedback regarding our training program,” Dr. List informs him as you try to ignore the pleasant surprise in Whitehall’s face.</p><p>“Not surprised in the slightest,” Whitehall acknowledges. “I figured you would need something a little more stimulating. No offense to our dear Dr. List but this is where I believe you were meant to be. Just as I had ascertained from when we first met.”</p><p>Dr. List lifts his hands jokingly.</p><p>“No offense taken, Mr. Whitehall.”</p><p>“It’s just a few pointers,” you stress, watching Dr. List and the instructor head toward the sparring partners.</p><p>“Where is all this self-doubt coming from?” Whitehall asks.</p><p>At his question, you pause, not wanting to answer as the familiar pangs of sadness that you’ve suppressed snake up inside your throat.</p><p>“It isn’t doubt. Someone told me I failed once. They were right.” What was once passionately debated in your mind was now hardened into fact.</p><p>“I don’t believe it. I saw the light in your eyes when you watched them fight. Just because someone tells you that you failed doesn’t make it true. They were projecting their own doubts on to you. It is up to us to decide who holds power over our minds. They are just but words that imperfect beings speak. Powerful and painful as they may be, only you can choose how you will be affected by them. That is where your true power lies. We can choose to press on, be unbreakable in our pursuit of ourselves or we can choose to be victims,” Whitehall surmises as you let his words sink in.</p><p>Dr. List and the instructor exit the training grounds as you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding as Whitehall turns his attention fully on you.</p><p>“I think you want to be more than that, don’t you? I believe you can do anything you put your mind to. Today has proven that you have a passion. You don’t need permission to pursue it.”</p><p>-</p><p>Cradling your phone in your hands, you can’t help but look at the sunset over the bay. It’s a view that you still cannot believe is real, let alone how you have found yourself in such a beautiful place.</p><p>You weren’t sure how you ended up remembering the number but you had hoped that whatever had popped into your head was correct, your fingers hovering over the call button. Nervousness takes hold and you aren’t sure how you’ll speak, even if it ends up being the person you are trying to reach.</p><p>Once the call goes through, the voice on the other end is suspicious and you try not to break into a smile.</p><p>“Nat, it’s me,” you greet, hearing the voice go silent.</p><p>You wait, wondering if you’ve been disconnected until you hear her speak, her voice thin. If you didn’t know any better, you would assume she had been crying.</p><p>“Where are you?”</p><p>“I got a new job,” you begin, beginning your slow pace around your apartment. “It’s great, I didn’t think I’d get it but I’m here and it’s wonderful. I’m going to be an instructor for a new gym. I know I should have called but my hone got transferred over and I lost all my contacts. I’m sorry it took so long.”</p><p>“I can’t trace your number,” Natasha interrupts, as you frown at her comment.</p><p>“That’s weird, it’s just a cell phone, I don’t know why it wouldn’t show up. Why are you trying to track me? I’m fine, Nat. I’m… I think I’m going to be happy here.”</p><p>“You left. You didn’t tell anyone goodbye. I went by your apartment and the landlord said you up and disappeared. That isn’t like you. Where are you?”</p><p>“I’m not going back,” you whisper, disappointment swirling in your gut at her tone. “Please understand. You’re the only one I have left that I can talk to.”</p><p>“I’m trying to understand. I know about Peterson.”</p><p>Now it was your turn to be silent. You close your eyes at the mention of Peterson, your eyes trained on your fingers that he had unceremoniously broken when he’d grabbed them, twisting you onto the mat as your body had been crushed by his weight as you tried to fight to get away from him. You were lucky that you had only broken two fingers that day.</p><p>“It’s in the past,” you urge, trying to keep your voice steady. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”</p><p>“I am,” Natasha promised, her voice forceful. “I want you to be happy and if that’s where you want to be then I’m glad. But I miss you. I want to know all about it. Tell me everything.”</p><p>You hear a slight sniffle as you wait, unsure if you want to boast about your new position. It doesn’t seem right but you tell her the information slowly, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice.</p><p>“I start in a week. It’s something new and I get to pick my hours.”</p><p>“Where’s the gym? Maybe I can come and visit.”</p><p>“You’d come here?” you ask, surprised at her offer.</p><p>“Of course I would. Are you close by?”</p><p>“No,” you answer, hearing the line hum. “Not exactly.”</p><p>“Where are you?”</p><p>The line disconnects and you stare at the phone. The reception is spotty, it has been since you received the phone but on inspection, you aren’t sure why the line went dead. When you try to call back, you hear a message that parrots that the call cannot be completed.</p><p>On your third try, you give up, tossing the phone on the bed as you head into the en suite to take a shower.</p><p>Technology was great. Just not always reliable when you wanted it to be.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A standard physical reveals a hidden talent and a secret that alerts a familiar face from the past. Natasha’s relentless search finally yields a result.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The harsh light above makes you squint before there is a hard press on your abdomen and another on your hips.</p><p>A standard physical before you can begin your training. Not uncommon.</p><p>But the comments above you are disconcerting as the once friendly doctor checks your wrists, arms and shoulders. They stop at your fingers, noting the small swelling of the two fingers you have recently broken.</p><p>“How recent?” the doctor asks, as you strain to hide under their shadow over the light.</p><p>“A month and a half,” you answer as your hand is turned over and inspected.</p><p>“Blunt force?”</p><p>You swallow hard at the question, not wanting to remember the memory of how it happened.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“A souvenir from your last job, perhaps?” the doctor inquires with a raise an eyebrow. “I wonder. Is such brutal training allowed? We ran some X-rays. A stress fracture, while common, was a little more severe than I’ve seen. Mostly seen in corporal punishments. Or torture.”</p><p>“It was an accident.” Even as you lie, you know that he doesn’t believe you.</p><p>He holds out a hand to help you sit up.</p><p>“It’s a safe space, here,” the doctor reminds you, sitting on his chair as he scrawls notes in your file. “Is it a boyfriend? A partner?”</p><p>“No. It’s no one. Just a bad match during a sparring session.”</p><p>“Well,” he continues, closing your file. “At the least, I hope whoever it happened to be was disciplined.”</p><p>You don’t answer him as he extends his hand as you shake it firmly.</p><p>“A clean bill of health. I’ll make sure Dr. List is aware. You’re a perfect specimen.”</p><p>-</p><p>You spot Whitehall as you finish your warm-up, Dr. List in tow as they reach you.</p><p>“Don’t mind us,” Whitehall reminds you with an easy smile. “We’re here to observe your talent.”</p><p>You know that arguing with him will do you no good and you remember his words about being allowed to pursue your passion. As you tape your fingers, you know that this is where you want to be.</p><p>Where you are wanted.</p><p>At your quick nod, Dr. List motions over the instructor you saw a week ago. It isn’t until he gets closer that you realize he’s bigger than you realize. All muscle with a jagged scar across his face.</p><p>“Normally, I would select a sparring partner that is less advanced, but I believe you’re properly matched,” Whitehall notes, confidence flowing through his tone. “Please, begin.”</p><p>The instructor gives you a quick bow of his head before you fight down the feelings of anxiety as you remember your stance. Failing is not an option, not when you are so close and there are eyes on you to make sure you do well. Your breathing is steady and low, missing the first pass of his fist as well as the second.</p><p>You remember the moves from Natasha, the fight like a dance with an unwilling partner as your fist connects with the side of his jaw. The pain that radiates down your arm only fuels your adrenaline, getting in two more hits as you twist around him.</p><p>Strike.</p><p>Strike.</p><p>Strike.</p><p>The blows and blocks continue for long moments, your eyes focused on your opponent as you can tell he’s getting winded.</p><p>You watch him stumble on the mat, shaking his head as he’s stunned. You shouldn’t see Peterson’s face but you do, your fingers wriggling before you close them into a fist again until his face disappears.</p><p>A hit connects solidly on your stomach, but you remember Stevens’ words, keeping focused as you continue on defense, blocking more blows until you sweep your leg out from under him and he tumbles to the mat. You follow up with another blow until you stop, inches from his face.</p><p>You hear your name being called and you snap to attention.</p><p>“Why did you stop?” Whitehall asks, looking down at the instructor who is staring up at you in awe.</p><p>The final move, as you are aware, is one that you have been taught never to fully execute, per Natasha’s instruction.</p><p>It’s a death blow.</p><p>“He yielded,” you answer, rolling back onto your knees before getting to your feet and offering him a hand.</p><p>“No,” Whitehall denies, placing his hand in front of yours. “This is twice he’s failed me. Let him get up on his own.”</p><p>Dr. List gives you a look, as if to remind you that you should not intervene as the instructor gets to his feet. The look he gives you is one of fear before he extends his hand to you.</p><p>“In all my years, I’ve never seen moves like that except in a select few. Good work.”</p><p>As you shake it firmly, you can feel Dr. List and Whitehall’s eyes on him as he turns to leave. Sweat drips from your body as you try to steady your breathing. The euphoria of besting someone is a feeling you’ve never had, the excitement tempered only by the feeling that he may have gone easy on you, even though you felt his blows and saw the flicker of shame in his eyes.</p><p>Once the instructor limps away, Whitehall places a hand on your shoulder as he motions to another instructor, who follows behind him.</p><p>“You’ve done very well. Exceeded my expectations, which were already high.”</p><p>You manage a small smile, remembering to be humble. If that was your first test, you weren’t sure if you could handle another so quickly.</p><p>“Your style,” Whitehall continues, with a glance at Dr. List. “Those are very distinct movements. You had a very talented instructor, I take it.”</p><p>At the mention of Natasha, your heart swells with pride. You wish that she could be here to see you, to hear the praise of her teachings.</p><p>“They were very disciplined,” you confirm. “Kept me on track.”</p><p>Dr. List adjusts his glasses on his nose as he clears his throat.</p><p>“Do you have any experience with weapons?” he asks you, Whitehall continuing on as you both follow.</p><p>“A little bit. Standard gun range.” You aren’t sure why he’s asking but you decide to pry. “Do you think I’ll need it?”</p><p>“From a logistical standpoint, yes,” Dr. List affirms. “We require more than the standard gun training. Your weapon, especially during transport, must be an extension of you. If you are going to take on this assignment, I would like you to become familiar with our artillery so that you can be called upon to assist when needed.”</p><p>“If you think that is needed.”</p><p>He smiles slowly as he pauses for a moment.</p><p>“It is always needed. You’ve done very well thus far and I know it appears that we’re putting you into test after test but I assure you, this is the last.”</p><p>You follow up the steps, the sweat drying on your forehead as the air conditioner is turned on full blast once you reach the second floor of the facility. Whitehall stands by a door, holding it open for you to pass through.</p><p>“You’ll have to forgive me if I’m skeptical about your weapon skills. I believe you to be modest. In this room, you don’t have to be. It is a simple assessment. Nothing more.”</p><p>You give him a nod as you continue on, relief flowing through you at the thought of not being critiqued any longer.</p><p>The room is dark, the lights low as you continue toward the weapons lined on a table. Your fingers hover over the various guns, settling on that you know all too well as you settle the earmuffs over your head and slip on the glasses before you pick up the gun.</p><p>“Good choice,” a voice purrs behind you as you whirl around.</p><p>A blond, older woman stands in the middle of the room, her lipstick bright red against her alabaster skin.</p><p>“It appears you have a favorite.”</p><p>You look down at the gun in your hand before you glance back at her.</p><p>“Familiar,” you confirm.</p><p>“I’d like you to hit the target. Sound easy?”</p><p>You know there has to be a catch but it doesn’t matter. You take your place at the front, training the gun on the target as you fire shot after shot.</p><p>Like you expect, the target begins to move at different speeds, closer and farther as you keep your gun trained on the middle, continuing to fire until you are out of rounds, only to reload within moments to keep up.</p><p>“Enough!” the voice calls out as the target pauses and you lower your weapon.</p><p>“I didn’t see you take the extra magazine.” It seems accusatory and you felt a ripple of guilt.</p><p>“Force of habit. I’m sorry,” you apologize.</p><p>“Mm. I did not ask for an apology. The miss was on me.”</p><p>The woman looks at the target carefully.</p><p>“A few misses but overall, not sloppy. Just unrefined.”</p><p>Once you place the safety on the gun and put it back onto the table, she comes closer.</p><p>“I am not like Mr. Whitehall or Dr. List. I am not as easily impressed. You have work to do if you are to be better.”</p><p>“I’m just a backup,” you remind her quietly. “In case they need help with teaching.”</p><p>“Which means I expect you to be the best. All of these instructors are male. Do you want to be second best to a man who you could run circles around? Women are strong. Don’t give away your power.”</p><p>You aren’t ready for the brush of the crook of her finger down your cheek and you take a step back.</p><p>“You don’t bat an eye when two men escort you up the stairs, but you’ll flinch at my touch. We have much work to do, you and I. I knew a girl like you once. She thought she was breakable as well. I’m a good judge of character. You’ll be like marble once we are finished. I’ll teach you everything you need to know in regard to your weapon.”</p><p>-</p><p>It’s late at night, Natasha’s fingers rubbing her aching eyes in vain when a single search result pops up. Your old computer that was returned to the compound had been wiped clean but not enough for her to sift through bits and pieces.</p><p>The fragments are a puzzle that she pours over, ignoring the pans of sleep that temporarily try to shut down her brain as she continues her search with the crumbs of information she has found.</p><p>She hasn’t been able to get a hold of you since the line went dead. The tracing on the line had been there since Natasha had gotten the call, the bots blocking her every counter measure until she had gotten a location.</p><p>The database searches reveal nothing, as if you’re a ghost.</p><p>But Natasha knows better.</p><p>The background company that every military defense company uses has a backend and she uses it to her advantage, working quickly as every login she tries means she’ll get shut out.</p><p>Her fingers fly over the keyboard, determination across her eyes as she narrows down a quick search as the pages load slowly, trying in vain to break her out of the system.</p><p>Your smiling face pops up and Natasha’s hands freeze as she blinks to make sure what she is seeing is real. It’s a recent photo, a far cry from when she saw you last. A sob escapes her throat as the photo disappears.</p><p>But she has your location, at least enough to start looking.</p><p>“Friday,” Natasha commands. “I need a Quinjet.”</p><p>“Of course Agent Romanoff. Shall I alert the others to meet you?”</p><p>Natasha swallows hard at the question.</p><p>“No. I’m going solo.”</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A final test is refused with drastic consequences. Natasha runs into an old mentor who gives her devastating news.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“That’s a wrap! Everyone did a great job today,” you conclude, a small sea of smiles and approving nods surrounding you as the group you’ve been leading for almost a month begin to pack up their things.</p><p>At the sound of your name being called, Whitehall stands at the door, a pleasant expression across his face as you hurry to meet him. He’s left you largely alone since your sparring session and meeting with the woman you know now as Madame B.</p><p>“Mr. Whitehall,” you greet, watching him as he observes the people filtering out of the room.</p><p>At the last close of the door, his attention is now on you, a slow smile spreading across his face.</p><p>“You’ve done well here,” he praises, his voice filled with admiration. “Look how far you’ve come. When I met you, you were a shell of yourself. Now you teach our logistical team how to handle themselves in the event of a threat. Do you notice how they watch you? They revere you.”</p><p>You wipe the sweat from your brow as you shake your head slowly in denial.</p><p>“I think they’re just trying to get used to me,” you counter, tossing the towel over your desk.</p><p>“It’s more than that. It takes a special person to be a leader. I see it. I watch how they hang on your every word, especially the praise. You course correct with care. I get the feeling they would follow you anywhere,” Whitehall suggests with a low inhale. “That is impressive. Much more output than the last instructor could get from them.”</p><p>“A little encouragement goes a long way.”</p><p>“You speak from experience.”</p><p>“My first instructor was always kind, even when I was making mistakes. I just had to slow down, focus.”</p><p>“And your last instructor? You never mention them and I wonder if that is the cause of why you’ve been so afraid to take a simple compliment.”</p><p>You don’t want to talk about Barnes. You’ve been so busy that you haven’t had a chance to revisit the painful memories and for that, you’ve been thankful. Your days have been filled with work, getting to know the people you see on a constant basis.</p><p>“Bad memories. I’m past that now.”</p><p>“Madame has been very complimentary with your efforts in your weapons training. It appears you’re much more advanced than you gave yourself credit for. She is, as she so eloquently puts it, a hard ass. I must ask,” Whitehall muses with a short pause. “Your techniques are ones that are not often taught. I’m curious as to where you learned them.”</p><p>There was an unwritten rule that what Natasha taught you, stayed between you both. You didn’t even teach it to the ones you had in front of you now. It was sacred in a way, learning the moves from her that she’d never taught anyone else.</p><p>“My instructor taught me many things. I’m sure they studied all sorts of techniques,” you supply with a short shrug of your shoulders.</p><p>“Interesting. Well, Madame has requested your presence. You know she likes her tests. Before you can be certified, she would like to come up and complete one final task for her. If you’re up to it, of course.”</p><p>“What is it?” you were wary of how he phrased the question. She’d given you many tests. Moving targets, changing weapons at a simple command, learning the quickest way to disarm someone.</p><p>You thought you’d done it all.</p><p>“She won’t tell me. I assume she’s been working on something, she’s been holed up in her office for a week. Obstacle course, perhaps? She never shares with me, unfortunately. One day I should inquire but she’s very efficient so I can’t complain.”</p><p>You glance down at your desk, looking at the open reports you’ve yet to finish.</p><p>“I’ll finish my reports and I’ll go up and see her. If that’s alright,” you finish, pulling out your chair as you sit.</p><p>“I’m sure that will be just fine. I’ll let her know you’ll be there shortly. You’ll have to let me know how the test goes. I’m curious.”</p><p>-</p><p>“About time.”</p><p>Madame B’s voice hangs in the air as you close the door behind you softly.</p><p>“Mr. Whitehall lets you bide your time. I do not. Where there is talent, there is still a lack of discipline.”</p><p>“I’ve done everything you’ve asked,” you dispute, your gaze following her as she circles around you.</p><p>“That you have. Perhaps Dr. List and Mr. Whitehall have not told you honestly of what is required. Discipline within the ranks means weeding out the weak. That is your final test.”</p><p>“I don’t understand. I’ve already sent in my reports, they know everything about who needs improvement,” you try to explain, her red lips set into a frown.</p><p>“Weed out the weak,” Madame B repeats, nodding to the weapons on the table. “I trust you will choose wisely.”</p><p>You swallow, looking at the target ahead of you. It’s simple, in the shape of a human form. The steps it takes you to get to the table are quick, your eyes washing over the guns that are set out for you.</p><p>“Three hits,” Madame B orders behind you. “Make it quick.”</p><p>As you select your weapon, the weight of it in your hands is different. Still, you take aim and fire. The three bullets hit straight into the middle of the target.</p><p>“Perfect,” she purrs over your shoulder.</p><p>As you reach over to place the weapon on the table, her warm hand presses against your forearm.</p><p>“That was a warm up,” she informs you with a simple blink of an eye. “Bring him in.”</p><p>The side door opens, two men dragging in a man in cuffs and a burlap bag over his head. Your lip trembles as you take a step back.</p><p>“No,” Madame B warns softly. “Not one more step.”</p><p>The men force the man down in front of the target, the familiar tattoos alerting you.</p><p>You know this man.</p><p>The muffled sounds of his sobs reach your ears and you shake your head.</p><p>“This is your final test. We weed out the weak.”</p><p>“I didn’t,” you deny, tears brimming in your eyes. “I don’t want to.”</p><p>“You did,” Madame B counters. “The day you bested him in combat, I saw it. You never finished what you started.”</p><p>“No.” The fear that paralyzes you is only made worse by the men who are glaring at you, waiting for you to finish. “I can’t.”</p><p>“I know those moves,” she says behind you, close enough that her hand brushes against yours. “Because I taught Natalia how to do them.”</p><p>The lump in your throat is painful, the grip on the gun tight as you forget to breathe at the mention of Natasha.</p><p>“You will not break. I will not allow it. He is your target. Finish him,” she orders you harshly.</p><p>Your back meets her chest as her fingers sink into your arms.</p><p>“If you fail this test, I will break you myself,” she promises, her voice low and threatening.</p><p>At her cruel assurance, you pull away from her grasp, throwing down the gun as you run, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you exit the room and head down the hallway.</p><p>“I take it the test did not go as you thought?” Whitehall says as you stop in your tracks, blocking your way out.</p><p>“I don’t want to. Please, I just -”</p><p>“There is no success without sacrifice. We’ve been waiting for you to take your rightful place. But that stubborn empathetic streak seems to continue to get in the way.”</p><p>“I quit!” you cry out, reversing your direction as you head back the other way.</p><p>“I’m afraid this will end in only one way. Better you accept that now than learn a painful lesson,” he calls out behind you.</p><p>You burst through the doors, Dr. List and a few guards staring right at you before you make a hard left. Footsteps follow you as you make your way up the interior stairs, the shuffling of boots on the metal steps as you grip the railing, trying to see through your tears.</p><p>All you need is a way out. The top of the building is within reach as you take the stairs two at a time, your legs burning with effort as adrenaline gives you momentum.</p><p>Once you burst through the door, sunlight temporarily blinds you before you look for a way down, hiding behind an air conditioning unit as you search for any fire escape. When one is within reach, you run toward it right as the door opens, leaving you vulnerable as Dr. List holds up his hand for you to stay still.</p><p>“You have nowhere else to go,” he says calmly. “I wouldn’t want you to fall.”</p><p>As the guards step forward, you take another step back.</p><p>“I want to go home,” you answer, your voice shaking with fear. “I quit.”</p><p>“I’m afraid it isn’t as easy to leave. We’ve invested so much in you,” Dr. List apprises, watching the guards advance.</p><p>The heel of your shoe catches on a hunk of gravel and you catch yourself, nearly falling over before Dr. List’s hand lowers.</p><p>“A painful lesson then,” Whitehall says behind Dr. List. “Let us see how strong you are against a fall.”</p><p>A bullet rips into your shoulder, the force knocking you back as you’re lifted from the impact. The falling seems to go in slow motion, your eyes lifting up at the passing windows as your hands try to reach for anything to grab a hold of.</p><p>Then there is only black.</p><p>-</p><p>Natasha searches through your things, wiping her tears as she looks at the life you’ve created for yourself. It’s simple, just like she knew it would be. Her search had led her right to your apartment. A few simple extractions for information had given her insight.</p><p>She had always known it was going to be a rescue mission. Especially after she’d learned about the company you’d been working for. The information that was given was vague, even with her extreme methods of drawing out as much as she could.</p><p>A secretary. That was the only piece of information she was given.</p><p>It was a lie. But she’d gotten your address, let herself inside and had started to look for any sort of clue.</p><p>Lerna was all but a ghost.</p><p>She wouldn’t get close without help and she didn’t want anyone involved until you were safe. She poured through your closet before she froze, gripping a blouse between her fingers.</p><p>“It’s been a long time.”</p><p>Natasha whirls around, aiming her gun at the familiar face she’s tried to block out for years.</p><p>“Where is she?” Natasha demands, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I know you have her.”</p><p>“I did,” Madame B says with a small raise of her eyebrow. “You told me once I would break them. It appears she was one of the breakable ones.”</p><p>A sharp sob pulls from her chest as she steadies her gun on her former mentor.</p><p>“What do you mean you did?”</p><p>Madame B sighs, disappointment washing across her face.</p><p>“I thought she was something special. I saw so much of you in her. She’s gone, Natalia.”</p><p>The grief-stricken cry makes Natasha fold in on herself as she shakes her head.</p><p>“No. That’s not true.”</p><p>“Why do you think it’s me telling you and not someone else? I have no reason to lie to you. You tried your best. Some cannot handle the training.”</p><p>As she drops to her knees, Madame B stands at her side, threading her fingers through Natasha’s hair.</p><p>“You’ve always been so strong. Mourn her and move on. This is the last kindness I will show you.”</p><p>Natasha rips away from her caress, getting to her feet as she steadies the gun back on her.</p><p>“I’ll mourn her. But you,” Natasha sobs, her finger on the trigger. “I will always try to forget.”</p><p>The shot fires as Natasha watches her body crumple to the floor. The silence is all that is left, shattered memories swirling inside her brain as she stands in the room for long moments.</p><p>Natasha knows grief can kill.</p><p>She’d do it a hundred times over if it meant having you back.</p><p>-</p><p>Steve waits for Natasha as the Quinjet lands, the worry marring his features as she keeps her head down as she departs down the ramp.</p><p>“Nat,” Steve calls out, her steps pausing before he gets the full brunt of her emotions. Her eyes are red, her face flush as she sniffles.</p><p>Steve’s heart sinks as she rams her backpack into his chest.</p><p>“Where’s Barnes?”</p><p>“Nat, wait,” Steve tries to call out. “He’s out with Sam on a mission.”</p><p>“She’s dead, Steve.” There’s no emotion in her voice, all of it used up on the way back to the compound.</p><p>She hears his deep exhale and she knows he’ll try to fix whatever she’s feeling.</p><p>“Don’t. I just want you to know what you can’t save him all the time. He’ll meet his match one day.”</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bucky reacts to the news, driving an even deeper wedge between himself and Natasha. Lerna prepares to transport a bio-weapon that puts the team on alert as Whitehall flexes his power with a new form of protection.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Bucky, it’s for you. It’s Nat,” Sam announces, holding out the phone as he takes it from Sam’s hand.</p><p>It’s been weeks since Bucky has seen Nat, opting to keep her distance just like he has with her since she made her threat. He knows that she’ll make good on her promise if she’s upset enough but otherwise, most of their communication has been through Steve or Sam.</p><p>Currently, they’re holed up in a small room in Austria as they survey their surroundings, rain coming down in sheets as it patters loudly onto the roof. Another mission to complete that he and Sam took so that he could get away from the compound.</p><p>When he holds the phone to his ear, it’s silent but he can hear her breathing, even and deep.</p><p>“Natasha?”</p><p>“I found her.” Her voice is flat. Emotionless as Bucky’s heart skips a beat.</p><p>It isn’t good news. This much he knows.</p><p>The long pause on the other end does not help his mind that races through possible scenarios. Maybe she didn’t want to return. That alone would not bode well with Natasha.</p><p>“Do you remember I asked you to take of her? To make her strong?”</p><p>Bucky sighs, his eyes gazing out the window at the dark clouds that mirror his mood.</p><p>“Natasha,” he begins, unwilling to have another conversation about the past. He’s spent a good portion of this trip wondering where it all went wrong and he’ll continue to do so until he gets answers.</p><p>“Just listen to me. You owe that,” Natasha commands, her voice thick with emotion. “Do you remember?”</p><p>“Yes.” Bucky’s answer is short, his voice hard as he’s forced to continue a conversation that he doesn’t want to complete.</p><p>“Everything I asked for, you ignored. We were a team. I told you to be careful because of who she was. What people could do. You ignored that too.”</p><p>“I know what I did.”</p><p>“I warned you. I told you that she could be vulnerable for people to find out about her and who are.”</p><p>It’s what Natasha isn’t saying that gets his attention. Sam raises an eyebrow at Bucky’s expression, watching as he holds the phone closer to his ear.</p><p>“What are you saying?”</p><p>“Madame B,” Natasha answers, her voice still cold. “They found her.”</p><p>His memories of the Red Room are back in a flash, his eyes closing as he sees Madame B and Vasily Karpov standing outside the ring as he and Natasha fought. He had trained many, remembered all of their names.</p><p>It made the guilt even heavier as he asks a question he knows she already has an answer to.</p><p>“Where is she?”</p><p>“She broke her.” Natasha’s voice finally cracks as the severity of what she means finally hits him.</p><p>The room seems to get smaller as Bucky stops breathing, the phone still glued to his ear. He knows her meaning well.</p><p>What it implies.</p><p>Bucky knows because when he was him – the Soldat – he broke those that weren’t made of marble.</p><p>“She’s dead, Barnes.”</p><p>When the line goes silent, the phone still is at his ear for a long while before Sam breaks him out of his stupor, calling his name before the phone clatters to the ground, his head lowering in defeat and guilt.</p><p>“Bucky?” Sam calls out, seemingly far away as Bucky retreats to a place he hasn’t been in years.</p><p>He’s back in the Red Room, the knife flipping and twisting in his hands as a girl stands in the ring. It isn’t Natasha, but a familiar face that had once shook his hand in earnest. He sees her repeat the moves he taught Natasha, blocking his attacks as hit after hit connects with his tactical vest.</p><p>More than anything, he remembers the face. It was yours, determined and strong, reeling back your arm to make another punch.</p><p>“Bucky!” Sam’s voice cuts through the haze as Bucky stands over a broken table, wood splinters littering the floor as Sam looks down at the demolished table.</p><p>He can’t remember how he destroyed the table, the ringing in his ear loud enough to make him shake his head as he surveys the wall, a large chunk punched through as he looks down at his metal hand, drywall covering it as he turns his back on Sam, running out the door as Sam tries to call for him. He can feel the tears that are running down his cheeks and he wonders for a brief second, just how long he was crying.</p><p>He can’t breathe, his promises to Natasha not just broken but ruined. He knows in the back of his mind that death would be a reprieve from what they could have done to you.</p><p>This isn’t supposed to be one of his triggers but his metal arm hums as he rolls his fingers into a fist, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he bursts out the door, the rain snaking down his thin jacket as he disappears down the street.</p><p>There will be an investigation, your records unsealed and his own inspected, exhumed from the archives for any link to Madame B, even though it has been years since he’d last crossed her. His own failings will be reviewed, his actions monitored and questioned by a panel.</p><p>He won’t have the answers they are looking for. Not when he’s been searching for his own to appease his mind. Sam knows that he hasn’t slept much since you had dismissed him at your apartment. Your disappearance only rattled him more, despite Steve’s attempts to smooth it over.</p><p>Your demise was solely on his shoulders.</p><p>In death, Bucky could mourn.</p><p>But the feeling that overtook him, that made him run from one of his only friends without stopping until he reached an empty field, was one that he hadn’t felt since he was in Siberia.</p><p>There would be no grieving if his intuition was right.</p><p>Only a fight.</p><p>-</p><p>Whitehall examines a map as Dr. List waits by the door.</p><p>“Are we ready, Doctor?” Whitehall inquires, his eyes lifting from his map for a sign of confirmation.</p><p>“Indeed we are.”</p><p>“Our weapon needs to arrive no later than two days from now. I will not allow for any excuses, not with our newest defense up and running.”</p><p>“We are all set,” Dr. List agrees, observing Whitehall as he looks out from his window.</p><p>“Then we will not fail. Let me know how the delivery goes.”</p><p>Dr. List gives a curt nod before he continues down the hallway. Their bio-weapon, a nerve gas created by their top scientists, will be on the military’s doorstep within forty-eight hours. Time is of the essence – Dr. List knows this – as he rushes down to the training ground to collect the transporters.</p><p>Once the doors open, they stand at attention, waiting for their first assignment since completing their training.</p><p>“I trust that you are all prepared for this transportation?”</p><p>“Yes, Doctor,” a chorus of approvals reply.</p><p>“Good. We have forty-eight hours to get the weapon across state lines. Use of lethal force is authorized. Choose your weapons wisely. Expect distractions and any attacks.”</p><p>The expectant stares in his direction make Dr. List smile as he places his hands behind his back.</p><p>“This is what you have been training for. You were trained by the best. You will not fail” he praises. “We would not send you in blindly. You’ll have protection. Now go.”</p><p>As they depart, Dr. List looks up at Whitehall and nods in a silent agreement before Whitehall turns to leave.</p><p>-</p><p>Steve studies a transport, his brows knitted in concern as Natasha adjusts her holsters.</p><p>“How far away?”</p><p>“A few miles,” Steve replies. “Six SUVs. That weapon has to be in there somewhere.”</p><p>“Feels like a trap,” Natasha surmises, trying to shake off the feeling. “That or Lerna is getting bolder.”</p><p>“How about a combination of both?” Sam quips, Red Wing flying overhead. “They’re all armed.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t be a party if they weren’t,” Steve replies, pausing for a moment before he turns to leave. “Nat, you don’t have to come. I know this is hard for you.”</p><p>Natasha swallows, shaking her head, ignoring the sympathetic stares from Steve and Sam.</p><p>“I wanted to. I owe it to her. We all do,” Natasha says loudly, Bucky unmoving as she pushes past Steve and Sam. “We stop them and we get answers.”</p><p>“You heard her,” Steve orders, sharing a sad glance with Sam before he slips his cowl on. “Let’s get a move on.”</p><p>The intel is purely on Natasha’s search, her never ending quest to find out about Lerna when something finally came up. A bio-weapon with the ability to paralyze within seconds, allegedly crafted for the government that was en route to a military facility. Once she was down the rabbit hole, she was able to confirm that no weapon was expected at the facility and that there was an imminent attack waiting to happen.</p><p>The black SUVs look like nothing except something out of a horror or action movie but Natasha knows that the weapon is somewhere.</p><p>“Standard issue?” Steve asks.</p><p>“Not from what it looks like,” Sam answers, his eyes watching the SUVs fly down the highway. “Think bigger.”</p><p>“We watch each other’s back. Get the weapon safely, we turn it over to Banner for inspection. Got it?”</p><p>Sam and Natasha nod in unison as Bucky stands behind him, his eyes meeting Steve’s before he looks back at the highway.</p><p>-</p><p>The SUV to the right squeals as the brakes are hit, a motorcycle cutting through the motorcade as a hint of metal gleams under the sun.</p><p>“We have trouble,” the lead driver relays over the radio. “Looks like we’ve got a Captain.”</p><p>“Fire at will,” the reply commands.</p><p>The sounds of gunfire pepper the highway as the motorcycle pulls back, enough to get a glimpse of none other than Captain America weaving through the vehicles as another motorcycle appears next to the driver, firing two shots to the tires as it careens out of control, striking another SUV.</p><p>“Two are down, I repeat, two envoys are down!” a call bleats out. “I count a total of four hostiles.”</p><p>As the flames of the crashed SUVs lick up into the sky, they continue on as another call comes from the rear SUV.</p><p>“Two possible enhanced! One above us and one on the roof! Requesting defense?”</p><p>“Leviathan has been dispatched. Stand by.”</p><p>In the rearview, the call for help watches as a motorcycle flies past the motorcade moments later, straddling the bike as gunfire erupts, an arm outstretched to pinpoint the two motorcycles ahead as the tires are blown out.</p><p>Bodies fly forward, rolling down the highway as the SUVs screech to a stop, the third assailant tossed onto the highway as a metal arm scratches against the pavement to guide his fall as he gets to his feet. The motorcycle stops in front of the SUVs before taking aim at the man flying above, clipping down the wings with expert precision before they turn their attention to the three in front of them.</p><p>The face is obscured by a helmet as Steve pushes Bucky and Natasha back, his shield at the ready. An armed group stands behind the masked motorcyclist, who hops off the bike and reloads within seconds.</p><p>“It’s always a fight,” Steve mutters, flicking his shield forward to knock the gun out of their hands.</p><p>He doesn’t expect them to catch it in mid-air, plucking it out of the air like it’s nothing before it clatters to his feet as it’s thrown back.</p><p>“Enhanced?” Natasha asks, her eyes studying the figure “It can’t be.”</p><p>“They move like it,” Bucky answers her, his eyes on the figure. “They took all three of us within seconds.”</p><p>“Definitely enhanced,” Sam groans over the comm. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. I saw it from above. Either that damn good or it’s one of your serum buddies, Steve. We need to get out of here.”</p><p>“Not without that bio-weapon.”</p><p>Natasha fires as the gunfire returns, Bucky’s arm deflecting the bullets as he herds them behind him.</p><p>“Go!”</p><p>“Are you fucking serious?” Natasha cries out, the grenade launcher in the figure’s hands.</p><p>It fires as they narrowly miss the explosion before it aims to the right and fires once more.</p><p>“Enhanced,” Steve answers, the explosion blowing their only transportation left into pieces.</p><p>When the launcher is aimed back at them, they take cover as the SUVs start up once more, moving past the figure who stands in the middle of the highway.</p><p>When Natasha finally looks up, the motorcycle is gone, the remains of their broken bikes charred and left in the middle of the road.</p><p>“Hill,” Steve instructs on his comm, looking at the wreckage. “We’re going to need a ride.”</p><p>“Everything okay?”</p><p>Steve surveys the team as Sam lays on his back, his wings broken as Natasha continues to stare at the wreckage as Bucky lowers his head. His shield gleams in the midday sun, waiting for him to pick it up.</p><p>“We took a hit. We’ll shake it off and find the weapon.”</p><p>“You only have one more day, Steve. I’ll send a jet.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The team re-groups to find the bio-weapon. A new threat emerges, leading to a trail of deceit, murder and a hostage.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Leviathan isn’t new. It’s not a person. It’s a spy organization that Hydra created during the Soviet Union. It’s been abandoned for decades. Or so we thought.”</p><p>Hill is quick to follow behind and give a talk down as the team is silent, their egos bruised and bodies sore. The ride back had been quiet, unasked questions hanging in the air as they nursed their wounds. It’s pouring rain, the wet sound of their sounds on the pavement that matches their sour moods.</p><p>“Then what was it that showed up?” Steve asks, his irritation breaking through. “It took us out like we were nothing. I didn’t see it coming. No one did.”</p><p>“We don’t know. Our ballistic reports identified soviet slugs we recovered at the scene. Untraceable.”</p><p>“Another enhanced.” It’s Bucky’s turn to hypothesize, his voice low with conviction. “It has to be.”</p><p>“Enhanced or just really damn good technology,” Hill offers in response.</p><p>“It plucked my shield out of the air like it was nothing,” Steve cuts in, his patience razor thin. “I need you to do better than speculation, Hill. A conjecture could get us killed next time.”</p><p>“I’m not sure what you want from me, Steve. I wish I had answers. This is the first we’re learning about Lerna. They’re intrinsically tied to Hydra. As you can imagine, we weren’t prepared for that. We knew of cells popping up around the world but not a complete fully functioning organization right under our noses.” Hill is defensive, something that the team knows that is a sore subject for her since S.H.I.E.L.D. was torn apart.</p><p>“Where would they even get a serum from?” Bucky inquires. “Zemo made sure all the remaining Winter Soldiers were dead.”</p><p>Natasha pulls away from the group, making her way toward the med bay without a single word to the group as Maria stops in her tracks. Steve opens his mouth to try to stop her but is silenced by Sam’s shake of his head.</p><p>“There was a final serum that was stolen from Pym’s lab way back in the archives a few months back. We have to assume they used it.”</p><p>“When were you going to tell us?” Steve demands. The sound is distinctive – rough and sharp, like the hard stop of a brake that makes Hill pause. “There was no other serum from what I was told. They tried for years to get whatever was left through my blood.”</p><p>“They didn’t have to once they looked through the archives. Howard Stark was a crafty bastard. Took a little bit and left it behind. When Hydra was disbanded, the archive was broken into.”</p><p>“And when was that knowledge going to be shared exactly?” Steve snaps, Hill turning on her heels at the demand. “And why would they sit on the serum for over twenty years?”</p><p>“I don’t have that answer.”</p><p>“You don’t have a lot of answers, Hill,” Steve affirms, his shoulders shifting down slightly. “If Lerna has an enhanced that we don’t know about, we can’t beat it. You said yourself we have a day left. I can’t pull the team back into this if we don’t know what we’re fighting.”</p><p>“He’s right,” Sam chimes in, exhaling loudly once they reach the doors of the compound. “Natasha’s still mourning. Can’t imagine this makes her feel better.”</p><p>“We haven’t forgotten, Sam,” Hill says quietly. “They’re still planning a memorial. Romanoff has requested we search for the body. Once Lerna’s bio-weapon is in our hands, we can continue looking.”</p><p>“You can do both at the same time,” Bucky orders, shrugging off his pack before he casts a glare at Hill. “We multitask every day. I don’t see why this is so different.”</p><p>He doesn’t look back as he heads toward his room, not even as he hears Steve call out his name behind him.</p><p>-</p><p>When you wake, it’s inside your apartment. At least, it’s what the dark haired man sitting at your bedside tells you. Your shoulder is wrapped, the sling foreign as you blink at the light coming from the window.</p><p>Your memories are in pieces, shatters of sounds and pictures that rise to the surface before your mind goes murky again.</p><p>“Do you remember your accident?” The man poises his pen on a notepad, adjusting his glasses as you stare, still trying to take stock of how you got here and who he is. Your mind is blank, just an abyss of nothing as you try to shift yourself up, gazing at the sling.</p><p>“My arm,” you begin, words sticking to your teeth as you swallow. “What happened?”</p><p>“Quite a long fall. You had the best of care, I assure you. Tell me, do you have any recollection of the accident? Anything at all?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Somewhere deep down, there is an absence of an emotion, something you know you should feel but like your thoughts, it’s just out of reach and you blink once more.</p><p>“How far?” you ask, testing out the rest of your body, bending your toes and fingers, satisfaction and relief flooding through you as your frame responds.</p><p>The click of the pen gets your attention, the man shifting in his seat with a kind smile.</p><p>“Far enough to bring you back from the dead.”</p><p>“Dead?”</p><p>“We’re unsure if your memories will return. With my help, I hope that they do. For now, I want to make sure you’re comfortable before we continue. While most of my questions you may not be able to answer, I want you to try. Can you do that for me?”</p><p>When you nod, you see a flash of white teeth as he pushes up his glasses. Another memory, one that rises to the backs of your eyes for a brief second. Familiarity, as if you’ve seen his face before.</p><p>“Don’t worry about your arm. Falls can trigger many different emotions once you remember.I helped someone like you once. He fell once and I assure you, his memories came back with quite a vengeance.”</p><p>“Is this home?” you ask, your voice unsure of your question.</p><p>“It has been. For a little while. Does it seem familiar?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Your eyes glaze over the walls, the tidy set up of the dresser against the window. It takes effort as you try once more to run through your memories, to try to pull anything that would make you remember. But all you have is the man in front of you, holding up a weathered book with the same kind eyes and a sympathetic smile that has been fixed on his face since you woke.</p><p>“Why can’t I remember anything?” You squeeze your eyes shut, anxiety rushing through you as panic sets in, seizing the air in your lungs.</p><p>“In due time. You need to relax.”</p><p>When your eyes open, the doctor is holding up a picture. It’s of a woman, dressed in all black, with dark red hair and vibrant blue eyes.</p><p>“Let’s see if we can jog your memories, hmm?” The doctor asks, holding the picture still as you concentrate on it. “Do you know her?”</p><p>You feel like you’ve seen her. Maybe in passing but you aren’t certain. This picture he’s showing you is important, you can see it in his eyes as he waits for your answer. Your brain gives you nothing and you lower your head in defeat.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>There is a shuffle of more photos, this time a picture of a man with long brown hair, gray blue eyes that seem to stare into your soul. You blink slowly, reaching out to inspect it.</p><p>“Do you know him?” The doctor presses, leaning forward, his voice lifting with hope. “You seem to.”</p><p>“A soldier,” you remark, looking at the star on his metal arm.</p><p>“Do you know that for a fact or are you looking at details?”</p><p>A glimpse of a memory flashes between your eyes. The same intense eyes staring down at you while you lie on the floor. The shake of the head that makes you shudder as you close your eyes.</p><p>“We met.”</p><p>“Where did you meet?” The doctor asks, scribbling furiously as you open your eyes.</p><p>“I don’t remember.”</p><p>“You certainly had a reaction to the photo. Tell me how you’re feeling.”</p><p>“I don’t know,” you answer, wishing you could force yourself to feel something. The only memory you have is of the man staring down at you, disappointment on his face. “I just remember his face.”</p><p>“Do you think if you saw him again, perhaps in person, your memory would be jogged to remember the details?”</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>Deep down, you feel something. It pools in your gut as you blink. Disappointment. Irritation. The longer you look at the picture, the more the feelings intensify. You hand it back to the doctor who gives you another smile.</p><p>“Sometimes our memories come back to us in different ways. I’ll arrange for you to meet him.”</p><p>-</p><p>“Doctor,” Dr. List greets, extending his hand as the man in front of him shakes it firmly. “Any breakthrough?”</p><p>“Of course. In time, she will remember but her memories are frozen at the moment. Our session ended much like they have prior. She shares what she can dredge up.”</p><p>“No mention of anything else? The fall?”</p><p>“No. But she is ready.”</p><p>Dr. List smiles at the news.</p><p>“Whitehall will be pleased,” Dr. List informs him. “We’re right on schedule.”</p><p>“Do you wonder, Dr. List,” the doctor begins, tapping his pen on his notebook. “If she remembers the fall, what do you think she would do? How would she react?”</p><p>“With your help, Dr. Phoenix, I don’t have to worry about that. Your work has been a godsend for us.”</p><p>“Indeed it has,” Dr. Phoenix agrees with a nod. “One of my more difficult patients but I assure you that she is in capable hands.”</p><p>At his words, Dr. List pulls out his phone, dialing a number quickly as he settles back into his seat. Whitehall will be pleased with the news, especially since they’ve started to track Romanoff.</p><p>“Ah, Mr Whitehall,” Dr. List greets, nodding to Phoenix who looks out the window. “We’re good to go. Everything is ready.”</p><p>-</p><p>“You sure about this?” Sam asks over the comms, high above Steve, Natasha and Bucky. “I’m not seeing a thing.”</p><p>“The bio-weapon is on the move. We have less than seven hours until it arrives,” Natasha informs the team. “We can’t afford to mess this up.”</p><p>Steve motions to the five motorcycles on the highway as they look from their vantage point.</p><p>“I’ll take out the bikes. Nat and Bucky, you keep track of the diesel truck that is behind. Once the bikes are out of the way, we’ll search the truck. Sam, you’re our eyes above. Anything moves wrong, you take care of it,” Steve commands quickly, the group splitting off.</p><p>“Got it,” Sam affirms.</p><p>Bucky is quiet as they head out, the revving of the motorcycles diminishing any final thoughts as Nat and Bucky take off in one direction and Steve in the other.</p><p>“Looks like our friend is leading the charge,” Sam informs the group, homing in on the motorcycle in the front. “All five are armed. To the teeth. Be careful, Cap.”</p><p>“Guns never slowed me down before,” Steve assures, keeping his distance for the moment. He remembers the tactic they used prior, taking the team down like it was child’s play.</p><p>“Sam? Gonna need an assist,” Steve continues, veering right toward the highway.</p><p>Red Wing dispatches, flying above the group of bikes as it prepares to pepper small missiles. Once dispatched, the lead bike holds up a fist and then spreads their fingers wide. The bikers separate in synchronization, the missiles peppering the highway as the motorcycles move out of the way and continue forward.</p><p>“Steve! Are you seeing this?!” Sam calls out. “What the hell are we dealing with?”</p><p>“Sam, what the hell is going on? Steve, did you take gunfire?” Natasha demands, the bike stopping yards away from the diesel truck that slows, black smoke curling into the sky.</p><p>“We keep going!” Steve orders. “Sam, I want eyes on the lead bike. Any movements, I want to know.”</p><p>“Got it.”</p><p>Bucky follows alongside Natasha, the feeling in his gut one that is familiar from his past. He’s traveled down this highway before. When he was someone else entirely.</p><p>“They’re going to go for the tunnel,” Bucky instructs. “Make a hard left, Steve. Sam, you’ll lose them in about five minutes.”</p><p>“Copy.”</p><p>“Any way we can close up the tunnel?” Natasha asks, crossing lanes to spy the tunnel ahead. “Sam?”</p><p>“On it.”</p><p>Sam watches the group approach the tunnel before Red Wing dispatches three more missiles, flying past the group before the lead biker swings their legs up to the seat and standing as they shoot the missiles before they make it toward the tunnel.</p><p>“Shit! Shit!” Sam shouts, watching as the four bikes left speed through the tunnel. “Are you seeing this?”</p><p>Before Steve has a chance to answer, the biker lands back onto the seat, making a sharp U-turn as it faces the on-coming diesel truck.</p><p>“What the hell are they doing?” Steve asks Sam, slowing down as the diesel truck continues forward. They rev the engine, taking off once more toward the direction of the truck.</p><p>“Suicide mission,” Sam quips, still tracking the biker. “It has to be.”</p><p>When the diesel truck approaches, the biker narrowly avoids the truck as they pass opposite ways.</p><p>“Bucky! Nat! Separate!” Sam shouts, the comms cracking with the volume of his voice. “Now!”</p><p>It’s too late by the time Bucky sees the motorcycle narrowly missing Natasha as it makes another sharp U-turn to be behind them.</p><p>Nat’s near tire blows out with a sharp pop, the bike toppling to the ground before Bucky grabs her before she hits the ground as he veers around the truck, the motorcycle hot on their trail.</p><p>“Steve, we need help here!” Bucky orders, the sound of the bike approaching as Nat fumbles with her gun.</p><p>Another pop of a tire makes the bike slide to the left with the force, Bucky’s arm digging into the pavement as he and Natasha tumble from the broken motorcycle. The truck continues on as Bucky looks up above to Sam.</p><p>“We’re out, Steve.”</p><p>“I’ll stay with the truck,” Sam advises, moving out of sight as Bucky and Natasha scramble to get out of the highway as cars slam on their brakes while they run, dodging bullets as Natasha fires back, Bucky’s arm clinking against the exchange of gunfire.</p><p>“Steve?” Natasha breaks through. “We’re on the ground. Stay with the truck and Sam. We’ll take this one.”</p><p>“I’m coming back for you and Bucky,” Steve counters. “Hill is on the way.”</p><p>The biker cuts them off before they reach the side of the highway, reloading as Natasha fires quickly. The bike careens toward them as the biker hops from it, deflecting the bullets as Bucky pushes Natasha out of the way to grab the handle, swinging it back toward the attacker, who slips to their knees as the bike flies past them and into a tree.</p><p>Natasha fires once more until she’s out of bullets, right as one pierces into her side and she collapses as Bucky heads for the attacker, the attacker’s gun out of bullets before he pulls back his fist as it’s caught in a hand, the force pushing back the biker before they toss his hand away, pulling out a knife, flipping it in their black gloved hand as Bucky looks at it.</p><p>“You’re not the only one with that trick,” Bucky mutters, pulling his knife from his belt.</p><p>He isn’t prepared for when the knife clashes against his own quickly, the strength of it surprising him before he snaps out of it. The clang of metal on metal is harsh and loud as they dodge back and forth before Natasha watches the foot work, the slide of the leg that brings Bucky to his knees and then onto his back as a solid foot connects with his shoulder.</p><p>Both Natasha and Bucky stare before the attacker flips the knife once more, intent on plunging it into his heart before Natasha wrestles them to the ground, the knife dropping a few feet away as her punches are blocked.</p><p>Bucky knows these moves. Natasha knows them.</p><p>So does the attacker.</p><p>It’s only until there is another sweep of the legs in one fluid movement that Bucky realizes that the attacker is going for the deathblow, the hand forming to deliver a crushing blow to the windpipe before getting in a few hard punches at Natasha.</p><p>“Nat!” Bucky shouts, ripping the helmet from the attacker’s head.</p><p>Natasha barely moves her head out of the way before the fist stops at hard concrete, her eyes filled with tears.</p><p>The woman from the photograph is underneath you, blue eyes staring up into your in horror. She isn’t your mission but your instructions are clear. Take them down, one by one.</p><p>Make them hurt.</p><p>Your hands pin her down, fingers at her throat as you choke her, red blooming at her cheeks as you lean forward. It’s procedural.</p><p>A necessity.</p><p>Orders are orders.</p><p>“It’s me,” the red head chokes out, her fingers scratching at your leather jacket, legs kicking out behind you. “Steve… it’s her.”</p><p>She coughs, making you press down harder before you’re pulled off of her by the man with the metal arm.</p><p>Your rage implodes inside you, only intensifying when he begins to block your blows.</p><p>“You know me,” he commands, trying to grab your arms to keep you immobile.</p><p>A trick they said he would try to do.</p><p>You aren’t a disappointment. The mantra thrums in your head, your fist landing a punch as he stumbles back.</p><p>The screech of tires get your attention, the sight of the two men in your sights as you stand, staring at the weakened redhead who struggles to get up as the man spits out blood.</p><p>“Ah, I see you’ve met our bio-weapon,” Dr. List announces with a grin. “Impressive, isn’t she?”</p><p>“Bio-weapon?” the man asks, turning to face you and then back to the other doctor. “Zemo. I should have known.”</p><p>Zemo shakes his head for a moment. It’s not the name you know him by but the man seems to. Zemo, formerly Dr. Phoenix, gives a curt nod.</p><p>“Zemo,” Dr. List sputters.</p><p>“I’m afraid your systems were no match for what my own firm could do. Lerna must be put to bed. Just like Hydra was. I appreciate your patience in finding the perfect weapon but your organization, even rebranded, needs to be put to rest,” Zemo advises, turning his attention on you. “Shall we show them what you are truly capable of?”</p><p>Your hands roll into fists as Zemo leaves Dr. List’s side, men approaching as Steve’s bike roars in the distance.</p><p>“Resign. Failure. Insight,” Zemo says carefully, your mind scrambling as you take a step back, your eyes closing.</p><p>“Ignore it,” the man beside you orders. “You have to.”</p><p>“Praise,” Zemo continues, his voice louder. “Deathblow. Romanoff.”</p><p>The darkness envelops you before the white noise drowns out the memories.</p><p>A gun is placed into your hand and you run your finger over the trigger as Zemo tilts his head toward Dr. List.</p><p>“Show the good doctor what a Thunderbolt can do,” Zemo commands, pointing at Dr. List.</p><p>The gun fires from your hand no more than five times before Dr. List falls to the ground. You think you hear a scream. Perhaps a shout before you turn the gun on the man with the metal arm.</p><p>“I must thank you, Sergeant Barnes,” Zemo says quietly, watching you aim the gun at his head. “For all your carelessness, you pushed her right into my arms. With Lerna’s help, she became so much more than you’ll ever know. I’ll use her to finish tearing the Avengers apart. Then the world.”<br/>The redhead on the ground is screaming, pulling herself up as she calls out a name, again and again as you block it out, gun still trained on the man that shook his head.</p><p>“Perhaps we should start with Romanoff,” Zemo suggests. You turn around, the gun now aiming at her instead as she shakily puts her hands up.</p><p>“You’re not a weapon. Do you hear me?” The woman’s voice is hoarse with tears as she sobs. “You’re not one of them. You’re so much more.”</p><p>“Such theatrics, Ms. Romanoff,” Zemo muses. “I’m willing to make a bargain.”</p><p>“No chance,” Steve shouts, shield at the ready. “The only one making a bargain is going to be you for a lesser prison sentence.”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t think so, Captain Rogers. You see, the damage I can inflict with a few simple words once incapacitated your entire team in Germany. I’m sure Sergeant Barnes remembers such a time. Think of what I can do with only a few of you. She has the same serum running through her veins as you do. I don’t like messes. So I ask only once. Romanoff or Barnes?”</p><p>Your gun is still trained on Romanoff, her eyes pleading with you as you wait for instruction.</p><p>“This is not a negotiation,” the man with the shield - Captain Rogers - snaps as he glares at you. “She’s coming with us.”</p><p>“Fine,” Bucky speaks up, taking a step toward Zemo. “Then take me.”</p><p>“Bucky, what the hell are you doing?” he calls out, charging toward him as Bucky shakes his head.</p><p>“This is the only way, Steve,” Bucky - <em>Sergeant Barnes</em> - replies, giving you a meaningful glance as you look at Zemo. “I owe it to her.”</p><p>“You don’t owe this to anyone.”</p><p>“He’s made his choice, Captain Rogers,” Zemo muses. “Come on, Sergeant. I’m afraid time is of the essence. With the demise of Doctor List, Whitehall will come soon.”</p><p>As Steve continues to move forward, Zemo gives you a nod and you fire at Steve, who is hit and falls to his knees. Bucky rushes to help Steve but you train the gun on him. Your shots were only flesh wounds as you stare at the man on the ground.</p><p>“I believe that’s enough violence for one day,” Zemo admits, the gun falling from your fingers as he motions for you to follow him. “Come now, Sergeant Barnes, unless you want your friends to be carried away in body bags like Dr. List. Captain Rogers. Miss Romanoff. It is a pleasure to see you. If you know what is good for you, you’ll keep away. I wouldn’t want my new weapon to cause any more harm than she’s already done.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Natasha mourns twice. Zemo lays out his plan of action as he coaxes out Bucky’s weakness.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Where do we go from here?”</p><p>Steve’s question – his <em>demand</em> - is valid. He’s lost Bucky.</p><p>Again.</p><p>This time willingly, something Steve grapples with as he seeks to understand. There is a nobility that Bucky has always had. Wanting to be a hero, to fight against all odds. The same boy in Brooklyn who enlisted without a care in the world and came back from the brink of death so many times that Steve can’t fathom how he could go back to the place that was the source of his pain.</p><p>He thinks about you and the sleepless nights Bucky endured, watching the footage of your sparring until his eyes were red, dark circles smudging his skin. Trying to understand while punishing himself.</p><p>Steve understands and doesn’t all at the same time.</p><p>Natasha lifts her heavy head, eyes still red with a broken heart. She is no stranger to losing people. The feeling of her heart being ripped from her chest, the bond severed as she tries to hold on. Those feelings are familiar but were a distant memory once she had her new family.</p><p>This is full force. She tried to mourn but seeing you alive and in such a state is much worse than she ever thought possible.</p><p>“I don’t know,” she swallows, lips dry and chapped from the amount of crying and sitting in the rain.</p><p>She just wants to feel something. Anything except this crushing pain.</p><p>“Not that’s good enough, Nat. We have to do something. We can’t -”</p><p>“I know, Steve!” Natasha’s voice echoes in the courtyard over the pounding rain. “You aren’t the only one who lost someone. I don’t want to be a part of this club. I want to save her just as much as you want to save him.”</p><p>“She’s important to me, too.”</p><p>“Is she?” Natasha asks, lowering her head as the rain pelts onto her shoes. “Never intervened when you could have.”</p><p>“Nat, listen to me,” Steve begins, stepping out from under the awning as he goes down the steps, rainwater soaking his shirt as he sits next to her. “We’re a family. Don’t think for a second that I didn’t think of going if it meant she could be safe. I didn’t want it to be her. We… Bucky… myself. We failed her. We’re gonna help her.”</p><p>Natasha’s sob breaks through her lips as Steve places his arm around her, holding her close as she lets out every trembling breath.</p><p>“I saw it when she rode, I saw it when she did the sweep of the leg. I knew and I just… I couldn’t do anything, Steve. She looked right through me.”</p><p>She closes her swollen eyes, breath straining in her throat as she remembers your face.</p><p>“It’s the programming. Believe me, deep down, she knows who you are.”</p><p>The silence that falls between them is tense.</p><p>“And if she remembers Bucky?”</p><p>Steve’s grip tightens on her arm as he murmurs over her head, his arm holding her tight.</p><p>“That’s why we have to find them.”</p><p>-</p><p>There are two things that Bucky knows as he observes you, cobalt blue eyes following your every move from above. You’ve caught his stare once, holding it for a few seconds before you continue with your fight.</p><p>One - that you’re stronger than any of them realized. His metal arm whirrs as he flexes it, brain on overdrive as he watches you spar. It’s methodical, the same way they trained him. There’s no light in your eyes, only anger when desperation takes hold from one of the few that are still holding up, lashing out as they attack. It’s a simple twist of your wrist before Bucky hears the crack and the howl of pain from your attacker.</p><p>Multiple fractures within seconds.</p><p>Two - whatever Zemo’s hold that he has - he doesn’t want it. He’s largely been a spectator, Zemo stringing him along as he watches, hands cuffed behind his back like a prisoner who is running out of time.</p><p>“I know what you’re thinking,” Zemo says after a while, watching your chest heave with exertion, bodies laid out on the floor. “I saw it in your eyes when she predicted your friend’s missiles.”</p><p>No one was prepared. The serum that flows through his veins and Steve’s provides regeneration. Strength.</p><p>This is much more.</p><p>“I suppose I’m spoiling the fun for myself.” Zemo cracks a hint of a smile before it fades, his eyes still on you as you finally disappear from view. “Getting access to you was easy. Her? Not so much. If I wasn’t going to break you down, I’d show you what Hydra has been hiding. But since you’ll never see it, I’ll share it. The Avengers defeated Ultron and his body… his parts... were to be destroyed. They were sold to a small company. A part of Stark’s green initiative. That’s the problem when you outsource, Sergeant Barnes. You leave it to an overworked employee who hands it right off to Hydra without even knowing.”</p><p>Zemo paces back and forth, like a predator as they both watch as guards come to collect the bodies. Bucky counts four. Two are taken away on a stretcher and the remaining ones are covered with a sheet as Zemo lifts a curious eyebrow.</p><p>“The serum brought her back to life as she was barely hanging it on. She had the will to survive. The serum did the rest. But her brain, you see, Sergeant. So loyal to her friends. To her father. Whitehall’s brainwashing was antiquated. It was simple. There were remnants of the mind-stone still left in Ultron’s programming. Major arteries of information. So much information about most of you. All we had to do was plug her into his last synapses. It worked.The teams fight patterns, the technology. She knows it all.”</p><p>“She doesn’t know who I am.” It’s bitter, the way the words tumble from Bucky’s lips.</p><p>“Not now. She will. Those memories she has of you are of her own. They will come out in time but I assure you, they aren’t positive.”</p><p>“And Natasha?”</p><p>Zemo gives a small laugh, straightening his height as he inhales deeply. He’s proud of himself, the way he stares down at Bucky, like a man who has the entire world in the palm of his hand.</p><p>Perhaps he does, Bucky realizes, Zemo having two Winter Soldiers in his possession.</p><p>“She was very sentimental. The wiping took some time. I made Romanoff her trigger because that was the name she called out for the most. You were a close second, Sergeant Barnes. She wanted to prove to you that she could be something. She is now. Without your help. The human subconscious is a powerful tool. You should know.”</p><p>“You’re gonna try to wipe me again.”</p><p>“I want to try, of course. But you have an iron will. Always have. I’m sure you remember Germany. You fought it even though you knew it was coming. Doctor Shuri did quite a number on your programming. Made your mind stronger.”</p><p>Bucky says nothing as he searches the now empty training ground.</p><p>“How many men did she leave alive?” Zemo asks, his back to him.</p><p>“Two.”</p><p>“She’s fighting it. Even now.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>Bucky remembers what it was like to know in the back of his mind that it was wrong, the shreds of his former self pleading to not take life from a target in his subconscious. And he remembers how quickly it was silenced by his programming.</p><p>“It appears you both have a weakness.”</p><p>“I don’t,” Bucky answers, shifting his shoulders. “Mind control won’t work. You said it yourself.”</p><p>Zemo turns to face him, his eyes dark as they bore into him.</p><p>“You do, Sergeant Barnes. That’s why you left your team to come here.”</p><p>-</p><p>A snap of bone.</p><p>A shriek of pain.</p><p>Bodies falling to the floor and a blur of a redhead, blue eyes begging you to stop. The face is one you know, years ago, like the excerpt of a book that you’ve memorized somewhere so long ago.</p><p>The hard exhale wakes you from your sleep, the pillow torn apart as you try to breathe. Your eyes sweep from side to side, frantic as your heart beats out of control.</p><p>
  <em>“You’re not a weapon.”</em>
</p><p>The husky feminine voice repeats in your thoughts as you slide your fingers through your hair, tugging at the roots to get it to stop. The words sink into your brain, over and over, trying to overtake the white noise that you’ve been conditioning yourself to live with.</p><p>“No, no, no,” you whisper, eyes sealing shut as heavy steps approach.</p><p>
  <em>You’re not a weapon.</em>
</p><p>When the door opens, you’re hauled to your knees, arms pulled roughly behind your back. The face you see is one you know. It triggers an emotional response that makes you lower your head.</p><p>“I must admit you are stronger than anyone has given you credit for. I wanted those agents exterminated and you failed me. Two are still alive. What do you have to say for yourself?”</p><p>
  <em>You’re not a weapon.</em>
</p><p>Fingers twist into your scalp, pulling your head up to look up at the man who demands your answer.</p><p>The back of the gloved hand that connects with your cheek is hard and painful.</p><p>“A little more time in the chair will help. Bring her to the lab. The Sergeant will be waiting for her.”</p><p>“Yes, Baron Zemo,” the man behind you confirms. “Right away.”</p><p>“It’s your lucky day,” Zemo preens, his dark eyes flashing with amusement. “You get to fight your demon. Right after a little boost.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Zemo reveals his plan. Bucky struggles with the aftermath of the fight.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky hears your screams before he sees you.</p><p>The path to where your holding cell is located is a long walk and he’s had little sleep, save for when his body shuts down automatically for minutes at a time. Zemo has said little since he’d left Bucky in a cell, the heavy magnets on the cuffs weighing down his metal arm rendering it immobile.</p><p>From what he knows, they don’t speak of you by your name. He knows of your beginnings, the name they’d assigned you – Leviathan. Raising from the depths of the deep to wreak havoc. They’d all underestimated you.</p><p><em>He</em> had underestimated you.</p><p>Zemo had made it clear that you were not a Leviathan any longer. The jagged scar from your fall was on display when you were fighting when he saw you. Pieced back together like Bucky was, an intricate tattoo of thunder and lightning hiding the flaws of your shoulder and bicep as a work of art.</p><p>Bucky’s had enough time in the cell to know how much Zemo was able to get out of you. A little push as your pseudo therapist and he was able to glean everything he needed to know about you between your brainwashing.</p><p>Bucky tenses at the thought, your scream of pain louder than before until it is silent.</p><p>“What have you done?” Bucky demands to the four guards that push him down the hallway.</p><p>“You’ll see,” one of them speaks in a clipped tone, shoving him through the door.</p><p>It’s a parallel view, your chest moving rapidly up and down as the mouth guard shines under the light as your lips twitch. Eyes distant, Bucky knows that you’re far away, your brain scrambling once more as Ultron’s disembodied head bores into your line of sight, yellow flicks of light seeping into your eyes.</p><p>“Ah, Sergeant Barnes,” Zemo calls out, straightening his jacket. “So good of you to join us.”</p><p>Your bicep flexes as the bars around your head provide a strong electrical shock.</p><p>“I must say, you’ve done a great job with tearing her down for me already. Her fight is strong. She must get that from Agent Romanoff,” Zemo muses, motioning for the machine to cease. At the sound of the motor slowing, Zemo places a gloved hand on your cheek. Instinctively, your face presses into his palm. A rage goes through Bucky as your mouth forms the word please before you’re silenced with a cold smile.</p><p>“Do you know how people find themselves on the fringe, Sergeant Barnes? I’ve asked myself this question many times in my travels. In my work.”</p><p>Zemo brushes back your hair as you stare into Ultron’s red glowing eyes.</p><p>“Desperation,” he continues. “The human psyche is fascinating. We thrive off positive reinforcement as children, well into adulthood. We like to be acknowledged. When that acknowledgment is not there with say, forgetting a name, our brains struggle to counteract that negative emotion with a positive thought. We constantly fight ourselves with our thoughts. When we find someone who listens to our pain, we build a bridge to connect with them. I have so much to thank you for.”</p><p>“You turned her into a weapon,” Bucky shoots back, shoved into a chair as heavy hands keep him in place.</p><p>“If you choose to look at it that way, Sergeant then yes. But I see her as so much more. I have no use for Hydra. They tried to rebrand and they were almost successful. Whitehall’s gone into hiding and I intend to find him. Make him pay for what he’s done to her. Though the serum brought her back, I’ve had to keep her in stasis. It isn’t good for the mind, no. That’s where the remnants of the Mind Stone help. I can give her any memory I want as long as she stays like this. Once I activate her, she will do whatever I want.”</p><p>“It won’t work forever. You said it yourself she fights it.”</p><p>“I’m a patient man. Sooner or later, your team will learn to understand that.”</p><p>“You’re planning on taking us out?” Bucky is almost amused at the question. Zemo has tried before and failed.</p><p>“No,” Zemo denies. “I don’t need her to kill your team, Sergeant. I just need her to kill you.”</p><p>Bucky’s smirk fades as Zemo removes the straps on your wrists and ankles, your eyes fluttering before they focus.</p><p>“It wouldn’t be a fair fight if I kept the cuffs on.” Zemo smiles at him for a moment with a shake of his head. “I had a theory that her subconscious is so murky that you were the reason why she didn’t finish off the other two men that day. Because deep down, she needs that approval. I think I’ve wiped what little bit was left but let us see, hmm? Take him to the training ground.”</p><p>Zemo smiles in your direction as Bucky is hauled to his feet.</p><p>“She’ll be there shortly. Good luck, Sergeant Barnes.”</p><p>-</p><p>You see the man with the metal arm, your fingers curling into a fist.</p><p>A target to be annihilated.</p><p>“I don’t want to fight,” he says quietly, his own fists at his sides. “I’m your mission. I know that.”</p><p>Rage bubbles up inside your chest. Whoever he is, the contempt spills over as you charge toward him, his head shaking before he braces his boots on the ground.</p><p>He dodges the first two of your punches, twisting his body to angle away from you before you get a solid jab under his chin and then to the side of his face.</p><p>“I don’t want to hurt you,” the man warns, his voice low. “But I will.”</p><p>“Will you?” you challenge, taking a wide step back as he narrowly misses you.</p><p>You block three of his forceful punches before his metal arm blocks your incoming fist, holding it in his hand before he tosses you up and you go flying.</p><p>With the momentum, you land on your feet, rage consuming you as you block his incoming jabs and counter with your own.</p><p>“I know you,” he urges, spitting out a line of blood before he wipes his mouth. “I said I don’t want to hurt you but I think that’s the only thing I can do to get you to understand that this isn’t you.”</p><p>You block the kick he attempts, sending him spiraling to the ground. He gets up, frustration on his face as you lunge at him again. You give him everything you have, flashes of your training and an older woman flickering through your thoughts as you pummel him to the ground.</p><p>The gleam of a knife catches your attention as it moves through his fingers before you’re thrown off of him.</p><p>“My name is Bucky,” he says through gritted teeth, blood dripping from his nose. “Your name is -”</p><p>“I don’t care!” you shout, your voice shaking with fury. “Who I am, who you are. It doesn’t matter. You die here.”</p><p>You’re aware of Zemo watching above. You can’t fail again.</p><p>He’s already warned you what will happen should you not succeed. The fact that this is the last person to stand in your way means you need to rid yourself of him quickly.</p><p>He blocks your next flurry of moves, your mind homing in on what he will do next. With a twitch of his fingers, you block the fist that aims for your jaw.</p><p>“He’s controlling you,” Bucky warns, his knife still in your sights as you reach for your gun, firing three shots in succession as he blocks it with his arm, lunging for your weapon as you sweep out your leg to take him down and land on top of him, intent on wrapping your fingers around his neck.</p><p>He struggles with the gun as you try to aim it at him, his metal arm enclosed over your fist before you hear the sound of your bone snap and you howl in pain. The sound only further infuriates you as you force your hand at an angle, still fighting against him before he pins you to the ground.</p><p>The pain radiating from your broken finger does little to faze you, your eyes still trained on him as he tosses it away. Your knee connects with his chest as you roll away from him, his grunt of pain echoing in your ear.</p><p>When you get up, he exhales loudly, struggling to get up as you both lunge for the gun that is within reach. Your foot makes contact with his stomach as you grab it, firing two quick shots that hit his middle, his shout of anguish filling your ears as he continues toward you, a slide of his foot making you backtrack before his fist connects with your stomach and you fly backward, dodging out of the way of the flash of metal before you block it with your forearm.</p><p>“I’m sorry for this,” Bucky huffs, his irritation apparent as he grips his middle. “You’ll forgive me one day.”</p><p>In quick succession, three heavy hits come from nowhere as your head hits against the wall with a solid thud.</p><p>-</p><p>Bucky studies your sleeping form before he goes back to wrapping his middle, the bandages wound tight as the bullets lay in the sink. His hands grip the sides of it, still bruised and bloodied. By his calculations, there are only hours between Zemo searching and finding where he’s hiding you.</p><p>This isn’t a safehouse by any means but a stop before he can call for help.</p><p>Zemo hadn’t expected what Bucky still remembered back in Siberia. The moves he taught the other Winter Soldiers and the one move he never taught Natasha.</p><p>It was saved for the others, ones who could take it. Three timed punches shock the system, effectively short-circuiting the brain to stop breathing. The hit against the wall had been enough to knock you out.</p><p>What mattered the most was that you were safe for the time being. The break out of the building had almost been too easy and for that, Bucky was still on high alert. Nothing Zemo did was ever that easy.</p><p>The rain pours against the small window of the room, your head propped up with his jacket. He waits for a moment to make sure you’re still breathing before he turns on the faucet and scrubs his hands clean.</p><p>You’d been a worthy opponent. The side of his face still feels numb and the dark circles around his eyes that are slowly turning into shiners make him look half dead.</p><p>“N-Nat…Natasha,” you murmured in your sleep, your eyebrows furrowing as your body twitched.</p><p>He leans over you, watching you fight in your sleep. Even in sleep, you fight against the programming, still so deeply embedded in your mind that he knows it will take months to right the damage that has been done.</p><p>But you’re alive, Bucky reasons, watching your lips move rapidly without sound. It’s a start. Once he gets you back to the compound, he’ll have more time to explain.</p><p>He can’t tell Natasha. Not yet. He can’t tell a single soul until you’re miles away from Zemo’s compound.</p><p>Bucky doesn’t want to wake you. He runs the risk of you still being under Zemo’s commands and he isn't sure if he has another fight left in him with the lack of sleep and nursing his wounds.</p><p>Or worse, waking up with no recollection of anything, your memories scattered and in pieces. He knows what that’s like and he isn’t prepared to begin to relive those memories of when it continued to happen to him.</p><p>As you call out for Natasha once more, he places his hand over yours and your body goes slack, Bucky’s reflection in the window staring back at him as he blinks away the tears.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Waking up brings more tension when confronted by Bucky. A quick getaway ends up becoming a headline on national news.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ice thrums through your veins, streaks of red from a robotic device passing through your eyes. A sound of a gunshot and then a fall. A pair of blue eyes hovering over your body before you wake, sitting up with a start, your heart pounding. It’s dark inside this room, your hand going to your holsters but each one is empty. Whoever put you here made sure to take everything and your irritation rises as you survey the small space.</p><p>The force of the rain against the window gets your attention. The only way out is through the only door in front of you but you aren’t aware of what is on the other side. Without your weapons, you’re vulnerable to attack. When your feet touch the floor, you hear heavy footsteps and you freeze, your hearing homing in the sound. It’s boots on the ground, judging by the pitch and you remember a fight but you can’t remember with whom.</p><p>When the door slightly opens, the low light washes over your features as a man stands between you and your freedom.</p><p>“Easy,” he speaks, holding up his hands. “I just came to check on you.”</p><p>You spy your knives in his holster and you stand up, fingers clenching into fists. He’s tall and all muscle. You can tell that even through the heavy jacket he’s wearing.</p><p>“We have to get you back home. But I need you to listen to me.”</p><p>“I don’t have a home,” you snap, nodding to your weapons. “Those are mine.”</p><p>“They are. I’ll give them back if you just let me explain.”</p><p>“You’re Bucky Barnes,” you recall, more memories rising to the surface. You narrow your eyes at him. The enemy, just like Zemo had told you he would be. “The Baron told me about you.”</p><p>“‘I’m sure he did. As it stands, we still need to talk.”</p><p>You’re at a stalemate, eyes still on the holster that houses your weapons. The ones he took off your body that are an extension of you. Your brain runs a mile a minute, sifting through what facts you can remember. You don’t want to talk.</p><p>You want to escape.</p><p>When you glance behind him at the open space and then to the window, Barnes takes a step forward.</p><p>“Don’t. It’s a four story fall,” Barnes warns, the tension in his face makes you realize he won’t let you leave. You’re collateral.</p><p>A fall. It seems familiar but you can’t recall it. Not that it matters now</p><p>“You’re in my way.”</p><p>“I have to be. You’re in no condition to go out. Your head is probably spinning, trying to hold onto some memory of what happened to you. I know what that’s life. You aren’t going to find any clarity here. Let me help you,” he offers, inching toward you.</p><p>“You can’t help me.”</p><p>“I can’t. You’re right. Not now. But I know someone who can.”</p><p>“No.” Your reply is quick. You don’t know why you can’t remember anything - not your name or where you’ve come from. What’s left in your brain tells you to run from this stranger that you only know by his first and last name.</p><p>Or fight him, like the voice in your head continues to urge.</p><p>“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Barnes says, his voice low.</p><p>“But it is,” you counter, lunging toward him.</p><p>He blocks two of your blows before your knives are ripped from his holsters and placed back where they belong.</p><p>“Don’t,” he warns you again. “Please. You don’t know what it’s out there.”</p><p>“Better than what’s in front of me. I don’t know you.”</p><p>“You do. You just don’t remember me.”</p><p>“That’s good, right? Better to have no memories,” you respond, touching the hilt of your knife. “Were you a friend?”</p><p>“I knew you.”</p><p>The blunt end of the knife curls into your hand.</p><p>“So that’s a no.”</p><p>The tip of your blade presses into his chin as he looks at you, his jaw clenching right.</p><p>“I know you could do it. But you know I’m right,” Barnes reminds you. “They’re gonna look for you.”</p><p>“They can try.”</p><p>“You’re programmed. All he has to say are the trigger words and you’re back to who you once were,” Barnes says, his hand moving up slowly.</p><p>You grab his hand, pushing him back against the wall as you sneer.</p><p>“Why should I trust you?” you demand, your heart pounding as he looks into your eyes.</p><p>“Because I was just like you once. Lost, afraid. They used me too.”</p><p>“You don’t know what I went through,” you shoot back, shaking your head.</p><p>“I do,” Barnes counters, the blade pushing into the skin of the underside of his neck.</p><p>“Then you know I can’t trust you. The only person I can trust is myself.”</p><p>Even when you say the words, you aren’t sure if you believe them. You know the answers you want won’t be found here. Not in this place.</p><p>But with the man who made you.</p><p>He doesn’t move when you lower the knife, taking a step back as you brandish it with a shake of your head, the powerful migraine returning with a vengeance that makes you wince.</p><p>“If you go out there, I’m bringing you back here.”</p><p>His words aren’t a warning but a full fledged promise.</p><p>When there is enough distance, you toss the knife with enough force to pin it to his jacket and the wall.</p><p>“Then do it,” you reply, running toward the bed and opening the window as you can hear him behind you as you jump onto the ledge.</p><p>When he calls out a name, you almost hesitate. It sounds familiar but you don’t know it, jumping off the ledge before his metal arm reaches out to grab you.</p><p>-</p><p>You know he’s on your heels, you can hear his footsteps before you turn a corner and jump over a wall, your head lifting to hear any sign of him.</p><p>The stares that you receive make you nervous, especially the hushed whispers before you continue down the sidewalk, head down to put more distance between you and Barnes.</p><p>A thought pierces through your mind, making you pause.</p><p>
  <em>“Weed out the weak,” Madame B repeats, nodding to the weapons on the table. “I trust you will choose wisely.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You swallow, looking at the target ahead of you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s simple, in the shape of a human form. The steps it takes you to get to the table are quick, your eyes washing over the guns that are set out for you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Three hits,” Madame B orders behind you. “Make it quick.”</em>
</p><p>“No, no,” You mutter, shaking your head as you pick up the pace, running almost full speed.</p><p>It’s too much. A human form, primed for a target. You remember how it felt in your hands.</p><p>The car that stops abruptly in front of you almost sends you over the hood before you rock back on your heels, the doors opening. Masked but armed, you don’t remember them and yet they reference the tattoo on your arm that is visible, speaking loudly as they approach you.</p><p>“I needed to level the playing field,” Zemo says in an almost purr. “Do you truly want to know your past? I feel like you’ll keep running from it. Why not up the stakes?”</p><p>When you’re grabbed, you’re forced onto your knees, your strength sending two of the guards flying before more hands are placed on you.</p><p>“Let’s give you a self-indulgent mission, shall we? You will finish my work.”</p><p>Zemo leans down to smooth back your hair as you try to pull away, staring into your eyes.</p><p>“Resign,” Zemo begins against your ear. “Failure… insight…”</p><p>-</p><p>“Steve!” Sam calls out, breaking him from his concentration.</p><p>It’s been nothing but radio silence from Bucky and he can’t help but wonder if Bucky was reprogrammed. His only peace has been the ironic silence - no news has been good news.</p><p>Sam doesn’t offer any other words, only turning on the TV to the headline that is splashed over footage of a body bag.</p><p>Daniel Whitehall, CEO OF Lerna, Murdered in Daylight.</p><p>The video that is shown after several disclaimers of graphic violence pops up on the screen. It’s you, in the middle of a busy intersection, taking several shots through a tinted window amid panicked screams. Steve knows those eyes, no emotion as you turn to leave, sirens being heard before the footage is cut and reporters cut back to speaking.</p><p>They don’t know who you are but in a few hours - minutes - they will.</p><p>“Tell me I’m not seeing what I’m seeing,” Natasha urges, both Sam and Steve turning to face her as Sam turns off the TV.</p><p>She hasn’t left her room in days, refusing to speak with anyone. Steve knows that she was doing her own surveillance, just as frustrated when she came up short. The redness in her eyes gives it away.</p><p>“We have to go, we have to get her,” Natasha continues, trying to reach for the remote as Sam holds it behind his back. “Sam, don’t make me put you flat on your back to get the remote. Give it to me.”</p><p>With a sigh, Sam hands it to her and Steve reaches out to touch her shoulder as she pulls away.</p><p>“I wanna see,” Natasha says to the group, turning the TV back on as the footage is replayed again.</p><p>“Nat, this isn’t -”</p><p>“Where’s Bucky?” she interrupts him. “He went there to help her, didn’t he?”</p><p>At her question, Steve doesn’t answer, choosing to stay silent as she whirls around.</p><p>“Were you looking for Bucky or were you looking for her, Steve? We need to go, we need to figure out where she’s going. She could hurt herself or other people.”</p><p>“We will, Natasha,” Sam answers for Steve, breaking the tension. “Whenever you want to go, we’ll go.”</p><p>“Authorities are also on the lookout for James Buchanan Barnes, widely recognized as the Winter Soldier. If you see these two, police are strongly encouraging the public to not engage and contact your local station as soon as possible,” a reporter speaks up.</p><p>“We leave now,” Natasha orders, slamming the remote into Steve’s chest.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>An alleged confirmation of a kill leads to a heavy decision on a bridge.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The city lights are bright in the penthouse as you stare absentmindedly at the TV, your fingers moving rapidly to take apart and put back together the gun in your lap over and over as Zemo laughs at the TV, turning to look at the task you’ve been doing since he’s sat down across from you.</p><p>“My little Thunderbolt, do you realize what you’re doing?”</p><p>“Yes,” you answer, your fingers coasting over the trigger before you place it on the coffee table in front of you.</p><p>“So high strung. I’ve no idea why. You’ve done remarkably well.”</p><p>He points to the TV, where a picture of your motorcycle is splashed across the screen. The headline is in German but you know exactly what it says.</p><p>
  <strong>More Than 50 Employees Dead at Lerna Headquarters, Murdered By Daniel Whitehall Protege.</strong>
</p><p>You reach for the gun again, only to have Zemo block your hand as he smiles.</p><p>“You must give yourself grace. I didn’t think you would manage to pull off such a feat but here we are. You’ve even caught the attention of the Avengers. I’d like to put a wager on the fight you’d have between the Captain and yourself.”</p><p>You don’t answer. You remember the man and his fighting style.</p><p>And the shield.</p><p>“You aren’t so different, you and the Captain. Strong morals,” Zemo continues, downing the last of his scotch. “With the serum, you’re as close to his match as Sergeant Barnes. A powerful weapon if left in the wrong hands. But you’ve always yielded under my own. Many times.”</p><p>The TV is drowned out as a figure forms in your head. Red hair, blue eyes and a bruised cheekbone. When you blink it disappears, your frustration apparent at the faded memory.</p><p>“Stop trying to think,” Zemo orders you, his tone darkening. “It will do you no good to dredge up all those memories that you can’t fully recall in the first place. It does more harm than good.”</p><p>You swallow at his censure, nodding as he gets up to pour himself another drink. At his words, you try to remember what he means by yielding under his hand. Another picture of you materializes on the screen and you focus on it, leaning forward as you blink.</p><p>The names of the people, with their corresponding pictures flash on the screen. You remember them.</p><p>All of them.</p><p>“Thunderbolt,” Zemo calls out to you as you’re silent, your throat working to speak as no sound comes out.</p><p>The TV flashes in the background as you turn around. The redhead flashes back inside your brain, your hands rolled into fists.</p><p>“Romanoff,” you whisper, your eyes locking with Zemo’s as your lip trembles. As if on instinct, you shut down the emotion that threatens to break through, cracking your neck from side to side.</p><p>Back to normal.</p><p>“Best you forget her,” Zemo answers you, leaning down to cup your chin in his hand. “Your mission was successful. You’ve never let me down. She was a liability. You took care of her.”</p><p>-</p><p> </p><p></p><div class="">
  <p>“I find it hard that you have no communication from Barnes, Steve,” Natasha quips, looking at the navigation system as she focuses on the last location you were seen.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“He’s gone radio silent. Probably looking for her as much as we are,” Steve offers, looking back at Sam. “Any news from Redwing?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Not yet,” Sam answers, still calibrating the controls on his wrist. “I’m searching for both of them. We’re not giving up, Natasha.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Natasha’s eyes burn at Sam’s promise, blinking back tears as Steve’s sigh catches her attention. It’s been a tense flight and there are no words that could possibly soothe Natasha at the moment. Steve knows what it’s like to have someone come back from the dead, to be a totally different person than when you left them. But he knows better than to try to comfort her. It isn’t right to, not when he added to the grief and there are no words he can possibly say to make it better.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He’ll do what he needs to make it right and that means finding you and Bucky.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“She’s not going to come willingly,” Natasha blurts out softly. “I have to be prepared for that, don’t I?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes. It won’t be easy. Not at first.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It hasn’t been easy this entire time. I thought she was dead. I mourned her. I killed the only motherly figure I had in my life because she told me she was dead. I don’t deal in emotions. But the things she went through. Losing her father and her mother. She didn’t need to be strong when she was around me. She could just be herself.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve looks away as Natasha wipes away a tear.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’ve had many little sisters. You get used to it, being the older one. The wiser one who knows when the hits come. I was supposed to protect her. I didn’t.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It wasn’t your burden,” Steve points out.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It was going to be regardless. That’s what family does. We shoulder it.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Natasha doesn’t miss Steve’s long nod or the way his lips slightly move as he sniffles, looking straight ahead.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What do you think Barnes is thinking?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve knows Bucky well enough to know that he’s beating himself up at losing you. Though from the looks of things, it appears that he had been caught off guard. That alone makes Steve believe that Bucky is gearing up for a fight. But he won’t tell Natasha. Not now. Not when it’s too fresh in her mind that you’re alive.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I don’t know,” Steve answers after a moment. “He wants to make things right. I just don’t know how. I don’t know if any of us know how. We get her back. That’s priority.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“And we will get her back,” Sam chimes in. “That’s a promise.”</p>
  <p>-</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p></p>
  <div class="">
    <p>The motorcycle is parked near the trees as you sit, watching the moon above you. The freedom you have is mostly to patrol, to make sure that no one gets close to Zemo. Tonight however, took you to the outskirts of the city. The images of the people, their names and who they were still burns in your thoughts that have plagued you since you were sitting across from Zemo.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Internally, your mind knows what you’ve done. You remember it clear as day as if you’re watching yourself on a movie screen. The rapid fire, the screaming and the quick work of making sure every single target was eliminated. These are facts, your brain tells you. There should be no emotion attached.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>But you remember the redhead. The look of pain in her eyes. As if she knew you.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>You remember the man with the red and black suit and the flying contraption. The man with the shield.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>And Bucky.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Zemo has reminded you that your work has brought several small countries to their knees. You deal with no aftermath but your brain wanders. Did these people have families? Were they brothers or sisters? No amount of hitting yourself in the head to try to stop the memories works.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>The familiar shock of pain hits you when you remember the man in the bag. When the dam breaks, you shudder, shaking with every step as you get off the bike.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>The incessant buzzing in your head gets louder. The screams, the pleading and the haunted look of defeat that flows through your mind a mile a minute.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>When you reach the bridge, you’re careful when you climb, high above the dark water underneath you. You know there is supposed to be a part of your brain that tells you what you are about to do is wrong. There are no tears. Just an understanding of what you need to do to end the voices and the images in your head.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“I’ve tried that before,” a voice calls out in the darkness. “The serum won’t let you. Trust me.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Your fingers grip the steel, your eyes still watching the water. You remember a river like this. You drowned two men with your bare hands.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>When Bucky emerges, you turn away at the sight of him. He stands off to the side, almost close enough to touch you.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“I don’t need it to,” you answer evenly. “I just need to go away.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“You’re starting to remember.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Not all of it,” you qualify.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>What were their names again? Zemo’s opponents who spoke out against his plans.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Enough to make you think you can silence it. You can’t. Not alone.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“You want me to go back with you.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Yes,” Bucky answers. “There are people who can help you.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Who am I?” you manage to ask, tears burning at your eyes. “I had a name, I know I did. I can’t remember it but it isn’t… it is not the name I go by. What he calls me.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“If you come down, I’ll tell you.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>It isn’t something you want to do. The view is nice from up here and even as you visualize sinking under the water, you know you’ll come right back up. Your body won’t allow it.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Did you know me?”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Silence falls at your question.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“I do,” Bucky answers. “Please just come down.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“And if I don’t?”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Tears stream down your cheeks as you feel him behind you.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Then you’ll never get your answer.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“It’s too late,” you inhale softly. “I can’t make my peace with it.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Because you remember them. I remember them too. We are more alike than you know. But I won’t be able to help you with that if you go.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“I can’t remember anything. It’s just flashes.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Tell me about them.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“There’s a woman,” you begin, looking at the water as if you can see her reflection. “Red hair. I killed her. Deep down, I know her. I feel it.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>When your voice drops to a whisper, the coolness of his metal hand wraps around your wrist.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Then feel it. You have a chance to continue your journey. Don’t let it end here.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Did you know her?” You aren’t sure why your heart is aching but it is. “Did she have a family?”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“She does,” Bucky confirms. “But I need you to come down from there so I can tell you about them. You’re experiencing a breakthrough. It happens when you’re conditioned. I know what it’s like to be on the edge of feeling like you could topple out of the world and no one would notice. Don’t let your mind trick you into that. You come down and I’ll tell you everything. This isn’t the end of your story, okay? Trust me, I know.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>His words are shaky at the end of his small speech before you step down, his hand releasing you as you wipe your tears. More voices, more images pile into your brain. Your hands go to your head as you try to silence it, feeling one warm hand and a cool metal one over your own.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Breathe,” Bucky instructs. “I got you. I’m not going to let you be alone, I promise.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>The emotional toll is finally paid as a hard cry of confusion rips through you.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“I know,” Bucky soothes, pulling you against him as your arms go slack at your sides. “There’s someone I think you need to see.”</p>
    <p>-</p>
    <p> </p>
    <p></p>
    <div class="">
      <p>“We got confirmation,” Sam announces. “Uploading the location now.”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>Natasha is hopeful, her stomach twisting in knots as she tries to stay calm. It’s the best news she’s received since she saw the news with your picture flashed across the TV screen.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“I don’t see her,” Natasha protests as the image of Bucky comes onto the screen.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“We have to trust him. If he says he has her then we have to believe him,” Steve responds, looking back at Sam nervously who gives him a nod.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>When the Quinjet lands, Sam holds out his arm in a silent reply to tell Steve to stay back. Steve nods firmly, watching as Natasha’s shoulders settle.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“It’s okay,” Sam reminds her as she nods. “You go on ahead. We’ll be right here.”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>When Natasha finally reaches the ground, she spies Bucky waiting outside of an abandoned building.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“Barnes,” Natasha clips.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>He can tell she’s anxious, the way she crosses her arms over her chest as she looks past him and at the building.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“She may remember you. She may not. When you get wiped as much as she did… it’s called breakthrough. Emotions and memories collect and then they break through. She has no idea who she is. It’s just like me in Romania. You glean what you can and you keep moving.”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“But she’s alive,” Natasha counters, still looking up at the broken windows. “That counts for something.”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“We don’t have much time. After the breakthrough, she passed out. Still trying to recover. But Zemo’s coming for her. We’ve left two safe houses so he’s coming.”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>Natasha doesn’t wait any longer at the word that Zemo is still searching for her.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“Natasha!” Bucky called out to her as she storms inside the building.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>She takes the broken stairs two at a time until she reaches a door that is slightly ajar.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>When you look up, you see the red haired woman and straighten up. It feels like a nightmare, reliving the same violent memory as she comes closer.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“You aren’t real,” you hiss, closing your eyes. It’s another figment of your imagination and you don’t want to deal with it. “You’re not really here. You’re not real.”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“I’m here,” Natasha replies, her voice clear. “And you’re here. We’re both in this space together.”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>You shake your head at the words, turning away from the person in front of you to face the wall.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“You know me,” the woman urges, closing the door behind her. “I know you.”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“No,” you shoot back, your voice getting louder, more pained. “I don’t. I knew her.”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“I know, I know you did,” Natasha replies with a nod. “I’m right here. I promise, I’m right here.”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>Her hands are outstretched to yours and you stare. Sam red hair, same blue eyes and the sad little smirk that your brain recognizes.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“Natasha,” you whimper.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>Her eyes fill with tears as she realizes you remember her.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“Yeah, yeah that’s me,” she rushes to say, bending to her knees as she looks at you. “I thought you were dead.”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“They said I killed you.”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>You can barely speak as the tears build again, the lump in your throat so painful that you can only keep your mouth shut and hope for it to go away.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“No, no you didn’t. See?” Natasha grabs your hand, holding it in hers. “I’m here.”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>When you let out a sob, she nods.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“Couldn’t forget me here,” Natasha continues, touching your temple as she holds you close before she touches your chest. “And here.”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“Who am I?” you sob against her shoulder as she wraps her arms around you.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“You’re my family. And we’re gonna go home.”</p>
    </div>
  </div>
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